Wildwood Flower
by Wynter S. Komen
Summary: There's a new houseguest at Blackwater Station - a famous nightclub singer who happens to be the surrogate sister of the infamous Al Capone. He's about to be indicted for tax evasion, and has asked a favor from his business partners, the Bondurants, to keep her safe. But as a new Commonwealth DA builds a case against Capone, his investigation leads him south to Virginia.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: You guys already know how my Muse is. Seriously. She NEVER, EVER leaves me alone. I've been stewing on another Lawless story for some time. I wanted to write one that pulled major characters from history. I thought about what it would be like if the Bondurants and Al Capone crossed paths? What if Al Capone had a surrogate sister with a checkered background, a real entitled snotty little brat of a young lady, who got sent to Virginia for her safety while he went to trial for tax evasion? What if she was the REAL reason Charlie Rakes came to Virginia, sniffing around? And we just took off from there. **

**The references about Al's past and history are pulled from the literal annals of history. He was a fascinating man, and, well, my spirit is that of an old Italian mobster, so I wrote these sections with glee. **

**This is going to be set during the movie, and roughly in-cannon. We'll have some of the same characters, and some of the bigger, more important plot lines will be here, but they'll be with my own special twist. I don't want to simply rewrite the same movie that you've all seen, so I'll try my best to make this nice and Wyntery.**

**The title is a reference to a popular song in 1929, but moreso to a poem that was published circa 1860, called "I'll Twine Mid the Ringlets". Check it out.**

**Without further ado, here's the first chapter. I'd love to get your feedback so, leave reviews. I love them and they keep me a-goin'. **

**Chapter 1**

_Spring 1931, Chicago_

Alphonse Gabriel Capone was not a man who feared being seen in public, by the public, but just the same, he pulled his bowler down over his brows and flipped up the collar of his expensive trench coat that he wore over an equally expensive three-piece designer suit. It wasn't raining today yet, but with all the heat from the feds he'd been experiencing lately, it seemed it would be wisest to keep as low a profile as possible. And given the woman walking at his side, and her fame – and notoriety – in this city, a low profile was most definitely called for, even if she didn't believe in one.

Mia Angela Scalise was a very well-known singer on the nightclub circuit in Chicago. She'd even done recordings and performances in New York and had done duets with the likes of that Gershwin fellow and Louis Armstrong on occasion. It was a little unheard of, but her connections to power – like him – had made them possible. She hadn't gone statewide yet, but between Chicago and New York, people knew Mia Angela Scalise when they heard her, and they clamored to see her perform most nights of the week at the Chicago branch of the Cotton Club, run by none other than his very own big brother, Ralph Bottles, whom Mia called "Uncle Ralphie". Sometimes she'd appear at the Green Mill, and before it had been forced to close its doors last year after some prohis raided it, she'd been center stage at the Apex for two years.

He placed his hand on the small of her back, keeping his eyes open and moving all around and his head down as they walked through the train station. Al had become very adept at keeping his eyes open when he was out in public; he knew he was a target – having been dubbed the "Public Enemy Number One" and all – and that attempted hit back in 'twenty-six had made him jumpy ever since. His brother Ralph always told him he was stupid for going out in public without some muscle around him, especially after their brother, Frank, had been gunned down back in 'twenty-four by some scum-of-the-earth, dirty pig cops.

Despite her fame, Mia was just like a little sister to him; her older brother, Giovanni Scalise – called "John" by everyone who knew him – had likewise been like another brother to him. He'd met the young man a few years ago, having heard of his notorious reputation as a cold-blooded killer from Sicily. Giovanni and a couple other guys had done him the tremendous favor of obliterating Dean O'Banion from the face of the earth as a hit for Johnny Torrio after that slick Irish bastard had tried to double-cross the gang boss. Capone liked Giovanni's work, and had made sure to enlist his skills to help him get rid of a handful of pests from Bugsy Moran's crew, the North Side Gang, a couple years ago. The papers had dramatically referred to that little incident as the "Saint Valentine's Day Massacre" but to Al, it was just another day on the job, another stepping stone to get where he needed to be, and to teach those mick pricks who really ran Chicago. He was just sorry that Bugsy himself hadn't been with that unfortunate lot of seven that day.

In the meantime, Capone had done much for John in the way of showing his thanks and appreciation. He'd introduced the man to perks of being a high-ranked member of his organization – designer suits, mind-bogglingly high wages, all the liquor and women he could stand. When John's younger sister, Mia, had been having trouble at the Apex with some of the thugs in the crowd getting a little too handsy and bold with her, Capone had seen to it that she was protected at all times, and that any little prick in the crowd who laid a hand on her was dealt with in a very direct and unmistakable manner. If they survived, they learned their lesson. If they didn't, well, problem solved anyway.

He loved John so much, in fact, that when Hymie Weiss came calling to offer peace to Al if he would only have John killed for killing Dean O'Banion, Al had told him to go fuck himself. And then, to make sure that _that _threat was obliterated once and for all, he'd seen to it that Weiss was snuffed out.

Back in 'twenty-seven, when John and his pal Albert Anselmi, another beloved member of his gang, had gotten out of prison for manslaughter, Al had pulled out all the stops. Giant party, the best food in Chicago, every bottle of liquor and champagne he could get his hands on, the prettiest and most willing girls and the best colored jazz band he could find. Because _that _washow you treated family. That was how Al treated his soldiers, his loyal soldiers.

All of this, because he loved John like a brother.

Until he found out two years ago that John was planning to betray him.

Al had never been able to figure out just when John had decided he was smarter than Al, but apparently, it had happened sometime in the past couple years. It hadn't taken much for Capone to figure out that John, with the help of his fellow Sicilian and killing partner-in-crime Alberto Anselmi, had conspired with Joey Giunta – brand new leader of _Unione Siciliana_, and another fella that Capone had considered a friend, someone to trust – to carry out a hit ordered by Joe Aiello. John had had some balls, Al mused, to even fix his brain in that thought process. Being the vice president of _Unione Siciliana _– a position that Al helped him obtain – must have gone right to his head and clouded his thinking. Al's body guard Frankie Rio had alerted him of the hit, so Capone had decided to beat them to the punch. And then had beat them to death, with a few bullets thrown in for good measure.

What hurt the most, Al thought, looking back on those dark days, was that John had truly been like a brother to him, part of the family. He'd eaten at Al's place, Al had eaten at his. He'd had a good relationship with Ralph, and trusted Mia around Al, knowing the Capone family had taken her in like a daughter, like a sister. John was smart, really smart, he wasn't some dumb thug with a tommy gun and a trigger finger. He thought things out, he had good ideas. And Al had thought that together, they could take the world.

He shook his head. So much for that. It had taken Frankie's help to get all three men together for a nice family dinner, as well as the help of a few hired guns whose loyalty had been purchased at no low cost. Al had made sure to finish of John himself, making the man, already bloodied and bruised and barely conscious after a sound beating from a baseball bat, look him right in the eye before Al put his lights out.

He had never been fingered in their murders, and it was this bit of information that allowed him to stay friendly with the Scalise family, to attend John's funeral and to send his wife flowers. And Mia, well – it wasn't her fault that her brother was a rat bastard. Women weren't a part of this ugly world of business; they were set apart, and he'd never stop looking out for her. She'd probably be upset that Al had beat her brother to, literally, a bloody pulp and then put two bullets through his eye sockets, but there wasn't a reason for her to know it. All he'd told her almost a year ago, coming to see her at rehearsal at the Apex, his bowler over his heart, his handkerchief at the ready, was that some bastards from the North Gang were trying to exact revenge on Johnny, and they'd finally succeeded. He'd sworn revenge, wiped away her tears, given her a hug and a tender kiss on the cheek, and sent her on her way. And ever since then, she'd somehow instated him in her now-vacant "big brother" slot, never failing to call him "Alphie" and hang on his arm whenever he visited the club, to banter with him good-naturedly. No one except Frankie and those hired guns knew what he'd done, not even his closest _capos_, and he intended to keep it that way.

Now, these prohi bastards were trying to get him on tax evasion, because though they knew he was a major bootlegger and had been behind some of the most notorious murders in Chicago, they couldn't get him on shit else. Well, that was fine with Al – let them have their big, fancy grand indictment and a long, drawn-out trial. Half those "untouchable" prohi fed bastards were dirty anyway, he was sure. With the right kind of grease in his palm, Al was confident he'd get out from under those charges in no time at all.

But with his indictment looming, and his almost-certain fate that he'd be behind bars soon enough even for a short period of time, Al had to get Mia out of town. He couldn't keep her safe, protect her, from prison, and he didn't trust even Frankie to keep an eye on her and Ralph was going to be too goddamn busy trying to keep everything afloat in Al's absence. Chicago was becoming too dangerous these days, things were getting too heated. He'd finally gotten rid of that son of a bitch Joey Aiello last October, but it was only a matter of time before his cronies came looking for vengeance. And with Al "safely" behind bars, there was no telling who they'd take their frustrations out on. They might very well target Mia – her brother had indirectly aligned with Aiello, and she was still playing nice with Capone. And these bastards on the streets, the button men, they were getting damn bold these days. Where women had once been strictly off-limits, more and more "collateral damage" involving women were coming to light. A wife might be standing too close to her husband during a hit and sadly become an innocent bystander. A girlfriend, a _comare_, might have to go down with her man if she was there.

And, on a less noble note, Mia was close to the family in a way that would make the Untouchables' pencil dicks hard. She knew things, she'd seen things, she'd partaken in things. Without family around her, no man to protect her, Capone knew – and was understanding to the fact – that it would be a matter of time before they got their paws on her and made her talk.

He couldn't take that chance with Mia.

The steam from the train filled the air with big puffs of white, and Mia pouted at him for the thousandth time since he'd told her she'd have to go and folded her arms. She was a beautiful young woman, at twenty-three years of age, feisty and smart and a bossy little thing. Her clothes were, naturally, the top designs in the city, made of the best and most expensive fabrics. She was pretty, too, the way her brother John had been a good-looking fellow, with good, thick Italian hair the color of strong espresso that she kept smoothed back in a neat chignon, creamy, smooth skin, big, round, warm brown eyes, and a sweet mouth with a Cupid's bow upper lip and a pouty bottom one.

That sweet mouth was twisted into a sour frown at the moment, and those warm brown eyes were stormy with annoyance.

She could be a peach sometimes, this one, Al thought dryly, inwardly sighing and steeling himself for the onslaught.

"Just _where _are you sending me?" she demanded, even though he'd already told her a million times.

"You know where," he replied with a frown. "Stop playin' dumb, huh? I told you a million times I'm sendin' you to stay with some friends in Virginia. You remember the Bondurants."

"I don't _want _to go to Virginia," Mia said, her warm brown eyes going cold the way John's could and her creamy olive cheeks reddening with annoyance. "I dunno why you think you can just ship me off here and there. I got a job, you know. I got a life here. People _know_ me."

"I'm sure the Cotton Club will miss ya," Al said, doing his best to check his temper. "But it ain't safe for you around here anymore. I dunno what's gonna happen with the trial. These assholes are lookin' to put me away for a good long time. I'm doin' my best to work around it, but in the meantime, I gotta make sure you're okay. It's not gonna be for long, Mia."

"But why _Virginia_?" Mia whined. "Why not New York? I could work at the Cotton Club there. We have friends there. People to look out for me."

"Can't trust anybody there," Al replied. "Who in the hell would I trust? Luciano? I wouldn't trust him around you for two minutes with my back turned."

"Oh, but you can trust those backwoods hicks from down south?" she challenged. "Besides, Charlie's not that bad." She smirked. "I can certainly control him."

Al nodded sarcastically. "Sure you could, before he got tired of you teasin' him and slapped you around a little bit and took what he wanted. Then I gotta go to war wit' him and all of New York. Why would you put me in that position? Listen, I know those Bondurants, they're a little different, sure. But you remember what happened last year. The hit on the club. That guy Bondurant saved my life. And yours, too. I've been workin' with him for a year. Nobody really knows we do business, and surely no one would think a girl like _you _would be spendin' her spring vacation in a ghost town like that. That guy Forrest, he's solid. You can't buy loyalty like that."

"He might have saved your life, but he's not _loyal_," Mia griped. "He just doesn't give a flying fig. About _anything_."

Maybe so. It was true that Forrest Bondurant's general demeanor was that of a grouchy old woman and that he seemed unmoved by most things. But there was something else to the man; some sort of streak of cold reason, logic and an elevated understanding of the world around him that let him function precisely how he needed to. And though he talked slow in that horrible twang that made him sound like a dummy, he was anything but – in fact, Al would be willing to tell anyone that Forrest Bondurant might be a goddamn genius.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Mia asked, her voice whiny. Al gave her a long look and wondered how something so pretty could be so goddamn annoying at times. "There's nothing to _do_…in the country."

"You'll do whatever he tells you to do," Al said sternly. "He's doing us – _you _– a favor by taking you in. He runs a gas station – mentioned needing a cook."

"I don't know _how _to cook like…them," Mia replied, stamping her foot so hard a lock of her shiny dark brown came tumbling out of her knot. "I cook Italian food. Not whatever _hicks_ eat."

"Then you better goddamn learn," Al said, beginning to lose his patience. "Here." He slapped a few bills into her hand. "Why don't you go buy yourself some ladies' magazines and read about it on the way?" He scowled at her, and she scowled back, and then he laughed.

"You nut," he said, pinching her cheek affectionately. "I'm gonna miss ya. Listen. This trial should blow over pretty quick, all right? Just be nice in Virginia, then you can come on home when I'm out in a little bit and go back to life as normal. Just promise not to tear that little town apart while you're out there, yeah? Maybe learn something besides how to get on a guy's nerves."

The train whistled, and the attendant on the platform shouted out for everyone who had not yet boarded to do so. Al turned back to Mia and spoke quickly.

"One of 'em will be at the depot in Roanoke to pick ya up," he said. "Now, listen. Nobody knows where you're goin' except me. You remember what the Bondurants look like?"

Something dark passed over Mia's face. "Vaguely."

"Vague ain't good enough. You need to remember _exactly_. Anybody approach you, calls you by name, and you don't know 'em, you run the opposite way, you hear me?"

"Just what are you so paranoid about, Alphie?" Mia asked with a sigh. "I'm going to middle of goddamn nowhere. I'll be fine."

"You'd be surprised at the connections between here and there," Al said darkly.

He thought of Mad Dog Banner who'd recently expressed interest in setting up shop in the Virginia area. There was no love lost between the men, but he had to appreciate Banner's business strategy. He knew why Virginia was a good place; it was fairly isolated, and there was plenty of land and resources to set up as many distilleries as a man would want. It was cheap to make the stuff out there. The expenses came in with the shipping costs, but it was a hell of a lot less expensive to ship from Virginia than it was Florida. Those Floridians had gotten cocky as of late and felt like they could charge however much they wanted to. Those clever Virginians seemed to know that they'd get a whole lot more business by keeping their shipping cost demands low.

After last fall's attempted hit, Al had, out of gratitude, offered the Bondurants the lion's share of his business. Liquor was only part of his racket, but it was a profitable one. The Bondurants had been in town that fateful day to let him sample some of their famed "white lightning" and discuss going into business together. Sadly, Al had picked the wrong night to do it. Someone had found out that Al was going to be out and about at the Cotton Club with some of his more infamous friends, and the attempted hit had Joey Aiello's stink all over it. Luckily, Forrest Bondurant had been in the right place at the right time, and had pulled Al out of the line of fire. He'd also managed to grab Mia around the ankles as she'd been singing on stage and yank her off, just as another hail of tommy gun bullets ripped through the club.

He owed the man his life. He settled for offering his money.

When all this business with the trial had started to go sour earlier this month, Al knew there was only one man he could call to protect Mia. Her family was useless – parents dead in Sicily, and her only brother gone as well. No uncles, no other family in the States to watch over her, except for Al. And something about Forrest Bondurant had struck him. Aside from his remote location, he'd saved their lives without blinking an eye. He hadn't had to do that – he didn't know either one of them from Adam. It awoke a sense of trust in the man that was hard to explain, but was undeniable. So, he'd made the call to Virginia and had explained the situation, humbly asking for his help. He'd also offered Forrest an enormous sum for his assistance.

"Without givin' offense, might I add that if you or your brothers touch one hair on her head, or otherwise look at her wrong, you'll have to deal wit' me," Al had said pleasantly, listening to Forrest breathe on the other end of the telephone. "I'm sure you heard about how I handle people who double-cross me."

"I've heard," Forrest had replied in that slow southern drawl of his. "Me and my brothers got no intention or interest in doin' anything untoward against that girl. And I'll thank you to watch your mouth with them threats. Perhaps _you_ ain't heard enough about _me._"

Al had heard plenty, which was part of the reason why he was both eager and loathe to get Mia to him as soon as possible. "Then we understand each other," he'd replied. "Very good. I'll be sendin' her your way before the month's out. Along with your sum."

"Don't want a red cent o' your money," Forrest said. "The favor you'll owe me will be payment enough. We clear?"

Al had felt his hackles rise slowly. "You askin' _me_ if I'm clear on the terms of the deal I brought to _you_?"

"B'lieve I said as much," Forrest replied. "I'll take that as a yes." He hung up before Al could say anything else.

"Ballsy bastard," he muttered to himself now, smirking ruefully. No one talked to Al Capone that way – nobody, except for a redneck from the backwoods of Virginia, anyway.

"Who?" Mia asked. "That Bondurant? Fantastic. You're sending me to live with three men, all alone? Any number of terrible things might happen to me."

"You'll be safe," Al said firmly. "I wouldn't send you if you weren't. Worst that could happen is you run your goddamn trap too much and he shoves ya in a shed somewhere. Now you better go."

Mia sighed and turned to look at the train. She turned around, then reached out to hug him. "Take care of yourself," she said against his chest. "And get this trial nonsense over as fast as possible."

"Piece-a cake," he said, his voice light with bravado. "Nothin' to worry about."

"Will you telephone?" she asked, looking up at him. "Write?"

He shook his head. "Better not. No need to get the wrong people on the trail. I got feds breathin' down my neck, checkin' every single record. Don't want to bring trouble your way. Just be patient, kid. I'll see ya soon."

He hugged her again, then kissed her cheek, and sent her on her way. He'd miss the kid, he would. And he looked forward to seeing her again soon, once his case settled down. The federal government thought they were above bribes; he was about to prove they weren't.

But as he watched Mia walk toward the train, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never see her again.

* * *

Mia settled into her seat on the train, staring glumly out the window. It was a gray, wet spring in Chicago this year, misty rain falling seemingly every fifteen minutes, and there was a muggy chill in the air, as if spring and winter were playing tug-of-war with the temperature, with winter being unable to let go.

She rested her elbow on the armrest of her seat and leaned her chin on her hand. She didn't want to go to Virginia. She didn't want to leave her comfortable, plush apartment with a big closet that held all of her beautiful clothes – only a fraction of which she had been able to bring with her. She wanted to stay in Chicago and sing and dance every night until she got her big break. She'd always wanted to be in a picture one day, too. She had the talent and she had the looks – she just needed the attention. And she couldn't very well get that attention in the middle of nowhere.

Alphie had certainly done a number on himself over all these years, it seemed. She knew that tax evasion was a big crime in its own right, though he'd done much worse – he'd stolen, he'd bootlegged, he'd murdered and ordered murders to be committed on people who stood in his way. He'd always been so good about never leaving any connection between himself and these crimes, which is why the federal government was resorting to tax evasion to get him.

She didn't really understand the ins and outs of the case that was being built against him. She knew from eavesdropping on Alphie, Uncle Ralph and Frankie Rio at the Cotton Club that he was going to be indicted on tax evasion, but she didn't understand much more than that. She didn't _need _to understand much more than that. All she understood was that Alphie was sending her away to some awful place in the South where it was hot and unpleasant, and where she would be expected to _work_ in return, all in the ridiculous name of her "safety".

It was a load of garbage. Who would come after her, and what would be the point? She was Mia Angela Scalise, for Christ's sake – she sang and danced and provided entertainment. She didn't run rackets and order hits, despite the fact that she'd been plenty exposed to such goings-on. And Mia Angela Scalise didn't work as a _cook _in a _gas station_ for a bunch of uneducated bootlegging hick brothers.

No matter how handsome the middle brother had been.

She'd met the Bondurants last fall, and had been generally amused by them. The youngest one, Jack, had been so excited and wide-eyed to be inside the legendary Cotton Club in the presence of the legendary Al Capone and Lucky Luciano that it had been endearing. And the oldest brother, Howard, had seemed quite comfortable with all the goings-on around him. He liked the drink, she could tell, and she'd heard from Alphie that he'd fought in the Great War as a younger man and had never been the same since. Come to think of it, though she obviously had no basis of comparison, he did have lines around his eyes despite his reasonable youthfulness, and there was something dark lurking in those pale green depths.

And then there was Forrest.

Mia stared out the train window, her lips involuntarily curling into smile as she remembered how he'd looked the first time she'd seen him. He was devastatingly handsome, or would have been, had he not had that perpetual scowl on his face. He was a challenge, she'd known, and she'd made it her personal little mission that night to try to crack that cold, hard shell. She'd almost been successful, and then some rotten bastards had tried to shoot the place up. And wasn't that just the luck, she thought. She remembered thinking that night with all the big names in the Cotton Club that it would have been some lowlife's ladder up to the big leagues to take a roomful of notorious mobsters.

She'd been on stage, singing something, even though she was supposed to have been all done for the night. When the first bullets had ripped through the club, she'd been momentarily confused – what on earth could be going on? Then she saw that Forrest Bondurant – from whom she'd successfully and almost literally stolen a kiss a little earlier, before they'd been rudely interrupted by jealous Charlie "Lucky" Luciano – knock Alphie to the ground. At first she'd thought it was the Bondurants – those hicks had orchestrated a mass hit. But then she realized he'd been shoving Alphie out of the way of the gunfire, safely to the floor. Then he'd turned toward her, his face still blank but his eyes stormy, and grabbed her ankles, yanking her unceremoniously to the floor of the stage as she'd yelled in fear and dismay before dragging her off of it and pulling her behind an overturned table, covering her body with his. He'd stared down at her, and she up at him, and the sounds of gunfire and panic and chaos and women screaming had receded as she'd lost herself in his eyes.

It was almost like she'd fallen in love, in that moment. But that would be just plain silly.

She never spoke to Forrest Bondurant again, after he'd taken his brothers and left the next morning. He certainly hadn't written, hadn't cared to telephone her, hadn't sent her gifts or flowers or any other thing any reasonable man who loved a woman would do. She'd decided to forget all about him and go back to teasing Charlie Luciano every so often, and the rest of the fellows that came to the Cotton Club on a regular basis. She never thought of him again, that Forrest Bondurant.

Until nighttime, that is. When she was all alone in her cushy apartment, alone in her big, comfortable bed. Then she would think of him, his humorless face, his cool eyes, his plump lips that she knew from experience were soft as pillows. She'd think of the way he'd jumped a little when she'd leaned in and just smooched him, because Mia Angela Scalise always got what she wanted, and what she wanted most that night was a taste of those sinful-looking lush lips of his. His body had been tense, but for just a moment, he'd relaxed, and his lips had moved against hers and she'd thought she'd seen sparks shoot behind her eyelids.

Then she'd remind herself that he wasn't thinking of her anyway, and that she ought to get some sleep instead of thinking about such foolishness.

It was purely dumb luck when Alphie had told her he was sending her away, and to _them_. She'd thought it was a joke at first, because Alphie could be a hell of a kidder sometimes, but then she'd quickly figured out that he was being dead serious. And she'd been absolutely furious.

But there was no arguing with Alphie when he made his mind up about something, so, now she was on a train to Virginia. She refused to admit to herself that she was nervous about leaving Chicago, nervous about going to a brand-new place.

Nervous about seeing Forrest Bondurant again.

_Suck it up,_ she told herself, relying on her old bravado. _You're Mia Angela Scalise. Your brother was the top Outfit hitman for years. You've got Lucky Luciano eating out of the palm of your hand, and the protection of the most powerful man in Chicago. They should be _grateful _to have you. You can handle a few bootlegging hicks._

Especially one who the mere thought of made her heart race.

She couldn't help her thoughts from wandering back to that night at the Cotton Club, November of last year. It felt like yesterday….

* * *

**A/N: "The Outfit" refers to "the Chicago Outfit", which is the name of the Chicago mafia that was first controlled by Johnny Torrio and then Al Capone.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I think I'm going to have TWO chapters for you today, so I better get twice the reviews...PLEASE?! :-) **

**Chapter 2**

_Fall 1930, Chicago_

Forrest Bondurant considered himself a simple man, one born and bred in the country, raised to a simple lifestyle and to enjoy simple pleasures. Franklin County, Virginia, was the place of his birth and had been his home ever since. His daddy had raised him, and his older and younger brothers Howard and Jack, to learn the value of hard work and what it took to be a real man. Real men worked with their hands, he taught them, and they knew how to run a farm and plant crops and fend for themselves with only the basic necessities.

And then, they'd learned how to moonshine their own liquor. And learned shortly thereafter just how prosperous that could be.

Their father had opened a gas station when they were young, as a means of earning additional money and, as he'd been a friendly man, connecting with the townsfolk of Franklin. Everyone knew George Bondurant and his pretty wife Mary Anne, and their three boys. That the station itself had become a gold mine was only icing on the cake – George provided high-quality gasoline at a fair price, and inside the station patrons had the chance to have a nice cup of coffee and a good, hearty meal, cooked and served by Mary Anne herself. And sometimes they'd even be regaled with the stories and reports of daily goings-on from the Bondurant boys themselves – Howard had never been shy about taking a seat at someone's table and bringing forth the entire contents of his trouser pockets to explain every little thing contained inside them. It wasn't uncommon to see a grown man leaping up from his seat because a frog hopped out of Howard's hand and onto his plate.

George had been one of the original pioneers of the moonshine business as well, at least in their area. Times had gotten a little rough, what with the onset of the Great War. His oldest boy Howard had gone off to fight in France, and Mary Anne had fallen ill with some mysterious sickness. That had been two less hands to help around the place, and Jack was too young to be much of a great help. The weight of the farm had fallen on his shoulders, and Forrest's, and to make ends meet, George had taken to making and selling some of the most potent moonshine found on this side of Rocky Mount.

Soon after getting sick, Mary Anne's illness, what they started calling "the Spanish influenza", had gotten worse, and as luck would have it, Daddy had fallen ill with it too. Somehow, young Jack was the only one that escaped the treachery of the Spanish Lady as Forrest eventually found himself rather under the weather with it shortly after Daddy had contracted it.

The thing about the Spanish Lady was that it worked hard and it worked fast – three days after falling ill, Mary Anne was dead. Two more days after that, and George followed suit. Somehow, despite a raging temperature of one hundred four degrees, Forrest managed to pull through. It had taken a long time for him to get back to himself, and poor Jack had to take up the burden of the household. Of course, the townsfolk helped, and provided for them during Forrest's convalescence. And eventually he made a full recovery. It never failed to amaze him that Jack had avoided falling ill despite being around three very sick folks and an especially potent disease. And when Howard returned from France, shaken up but nary as much as a scratch on him, Forrest began to realize something – the Bondurant boys were special.

As they began to progress into their careers as bootleggers, it became even more clear to him that he and his brothers were, in fact, damn near untouchable. Any number of scrapes they found themselves in, with the law or with other irritated bootleggers, always ended up in their favor. And no matter how grave an injury they might sustain, they always pulled through.

They were legendary. They were invincible.

Forrest had quickly stepped up to become the leader among his brothers. And initially he'd tried to focus mainly on running the station, and bootlegging very little. The onset of the next decade had shown in the big cities that the law was cracking down on liquor manufacturing and sales before completely wiping it out. And bootleggers weren't treated kindly. But it became harder to make ends meet, and why should they struggle? Why should they go without or do things the hard way every time when they possessed a certain skill that not everybody had?

And after that, well, with as much money as he'd discovered his daddy had been making from bootlegging, it didn't require much thought to make the decision to pursue that endeavor full-time. And it was a dangerous endeavor, he'd found out over the years. He couldn't count on two hands the number of times he and his brothers had been in a fight, or been shot at, or robbed, or had folks try to rob them. And when Prohibition came about in the early twenties, bootlegging was a bandwagon that just about every enterprising young man wanted to jump on – including the man in whose company he and his brothers would be spending the weekend.

Forrest wasn't sure when or how the news of his and his brothers' exploits made it out of the sleepy town of Franklin County, but some of the big-time gangsters in Chicago and New York had apparently started getting word of three brothers from "the sticks" who were running things in the South. Forrest had been unaware that that was actually the case – as far as he was concerned, he and his brothers sold liquor to men who could pay for it and be trusted, and sometimes had to fight tooth and nail to keep what was theirs. If that meant they were "running things in the South" then, so be it. But apparently their shenanigans had caught the attention of a few notorious names, and it was with a mixture of surprise and nonchalance that Forrest accepted a telephone call in the fall of 1930 from a man representing "Mr. Al Capone".

Forrest had, of course, heard of Al Capone. His younger brother Jack practically idolized the man, but then again, Jack had an unhealthy obsession with the big time mafia gangsters, without paying much mind to the fact that they generally had pretty short lifespans. But Alphonse Capone was notorious indeed. Though most of his wealth actually came from prostitution, bootlegging liquor was also a big racket of his, and he couldn't imagine why someone as high up as Capone would be calling _him_.

Mr. Capone was interested in doing business, his contact said, as he'd been informed the Bondurants manufactured some of the finest corn whiskey as could be found in the southern part of the country. He wanted to invite Mr. Forrest Bondurant and his two brothers for an entertaining and lavish weekend in Chicago to talk business. Would they be interested in in such an offer?

Forrest's inclination was to say no, but his practical side asked for more details. "How much money are we talkin', here?" he'd asked bluntly.

His contact, who had yet to identify himself, had only laughed. "Straight to the point. Very well – Mr. Capone is willing to negotiate and refuses to insult you with less than a starting offer of forty thousand dollars per year, minus his cut, of course."

"At what percentage?"

"Mr. Capone always retains a thirty percent cut."

Forrest had chuckled dryly at that. "So. You tellin' me that _Mr. Capone _there is so interested in me and my brothers that he's interested in a business partnership, but plans on takin' damn near half of what he's offering, with the rest to be split three ways? That's what you're offerin', huh? And which part of that am I not supposed to find insultin'?"

"I assure you, Mr. Bondurant, nine thousand dollars a year per person is nothing to sniff at," the voice had said coldly. "And as I said, Mr. Capone is open to negotiate."

"Yeah, sure," Forrest had replied wryly. "Nine thousand ain't nothin' to sniff at, but then again it's a damned sight less than twelve, ain't it?"

"Your train fare will be covered," the man said, a hint of irritation in his voice. "And a good time guaranteed. Chicago has the finest restaurants and entertainment. Certainly more than what your ghost town has to offer."

Forrest paused, ignoring the slight to his hometown. "Let me talk it over with my brothers. Call me again tomorrow at the same time and I'll have an answer for you."

"Very well."

Forrest had hung up without another word.

It turned out his brothers had been fervently in favor of the trip. He's been unsurprised about Jack; his baby brother was so pie-eyed and obsessed with all things gangster that he was practically jumping up and down and pissing his britches at the thought of meeting none other than the notorious Al Capone.

"Just think, Forrest," Jack had babbled. "Mr. Capone knows lotsa folks, too. In the gangs, I mean. Ain't no tellin' who might be in town that weekend, too, who else we might meet."

"Right," Forrest had replied. "And God only knows we couldn't possibly be the targets of a hit, neither."

"A _hit?"_ Howard had repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Forrest, you really think that Eye-talian man really wants the three of us nobodies from Virginia _dead? _What in hell for? What would he stand to gain?"

"Our business, for starters. And you never can tell," Forrest had replied. "It pays to be cautious – we've stayed alive this long bein' that way. And clearly we ain't nobodies if fuckin' Al Capone is havin' his manservant call us directly. They heard of us, they want what we got. It don't smell right to me."

Howard had shrugged. "I don't know about no _hit_, but dammit, I'm certainly up for a weekend of fun at a rich man's expense." He'd smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Big city, lots of excitement. Finest food, best liquor, liveliest jazz, and the purdiest girls."

"Girls," Jack had repeated in a hushed, reverent tone.

"Oh, please, Jackie," Howard had said scornfully. "A naked girl could corner you in a closet and bend over and you still wouldn't know what to do with yourself or where to stick it."

"Aw, fuck you, Howard," Jack had said irritably, shooting Howard a dirty look. "I know plenty. You wouldn't know _half _of what I know."

"And I'll keep it that way, thank you _very_ much," Howard had said, shuddering. "What the hell you plan to do, talk her to death? 'Cause you ain't touchin' a thing, you big scaredy cat."

"I ain't scared," Jack had shot back, annoyed. "I'll have you know –"

"Both of you, shut the hell up," Forrest had interjected. "Are we goin' or not?"

"I vote yes," Jack had said immediately.

Howard had shrugged. "I vote yes. Can't lose nothin' by goin'. And if the deal don't work, well, we wasn't plannin' on that extra income anyway, so it ain't like we're takin' a big hit."

"Unless the whole goddamn thing is a scheme," Forrest had said darkly.

"Oh, come on, Forrest," Jack had said. "You say it all the time, we're Bondurants. Can't nothin' happen to us, we're untouchable."

That had given Forrest pause. "I s'pose that's true. I did say that."

Howard had nudged his arm and grinned a shit-eating grin that had made Forrest want to punch it off his face. "C'mon, Brother Forrest. Live a little."

The following day, the arrangements had been made, and sure enough, their fare to Chicago was waiting on them, all taken care of, at the train depot. No expense had been spared, apparently, as each brother had been given a private cabin with cushy seats. The meals were lavish and rich, freshly cut cigars offered, and no one batted an eye when Howard openly drank from his flask.

The next day when they arrived in Chicago, a black limousine was waiting for them. Forrest had no idea how the driver knew who they were, and he didn't like that he didn't know it, but nonetheless they got into the limousine and the driver pulled away from the depot. Forrest made sure to have the pistol tucked into his belt within grabbing reach.

"Mr. Capone would like to invite you to his home for lunch," the driver said.

"Al Capone's house for _lunch!"_ Jack hissed to his brothers, elbowing Howard roughly.

"Just settle down, now," Howard said sharply. "Unless you want a knuckle sandwich to eat instead of whatever Mr. Capone plans on serving us."

Forrest could have sworn he heard the driver chuckle under his breath.

Al Capone's house turned out to be an apartment downtown. It was decorated simply, but everything was very high quality – even Forrest's untrained eye could see that. His butler led them into a fancy dining room, and a moment later, the sound of hard shoe soles hitting expensive Italian tile met their ears.

A slight man, portly, with a head of thick black hair and a mischievous smile on his full lips, approached them with his hand out. "Bondurant brothers," he said, his accent heavy with Brooklyn. "How nice to meet ya."

"I'm Jack," Jack said, practically leaping in front of his brothers to grab at Al Capone's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Al blinked at him for a moment, then grinned widely at Jack and looked at Howard and Forrest, gesturing with his left hand. "Kid's got enthusiasm!" he said. "I like that. Tell me, kid – how old are you?"

"I'm nineteen years old, sir," Jack replied, grinning like a fool.

"Nineteen," Capone mused, gently extracting his hand. "To be that young again." He turned to Howard, tilting his head back to make eye contact. Howard was absurdly tall, and Capone absurdly short, but for some reason, there was nothing demeaning in the way he looked up at Howard. The man radiated power, and it was undeniable.

"You must be Howard," Capone said, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet ya."

"You too, Mr. Capone," Howard said. "Thanks for havin' us up this weekend."

"Call me Al," he insisted. "And trust me, you're doin' me the favor." He looked at Forrest. "And you're Forrest. Good to meet ya."

Forrest merely nodded once and gave the man's hand a cold shake. Instead of being offended, Capone's eyes twinkled and he grinned. He pointed at Forrest and looked at his brothers. "Cool cucumber, this one. I'm guessin' nothin' shakes him up."

Forrest remained silent.

"That's the truth of it there, Al," Howard said, grinning jovially at his younger brother. "Forrest there is right unflappable."

"Well. C'mon over here, youse guys must be hungry after all that traveling." Capone led the way into the dining room, where soup was being ladled from a tureen into china soup plates by a Negro serving woman. Forrest nodded his thanks to her as she laid his napkin in his lap.

"Thanks, honey," Capone said to her. "Tell 'em what we're havin'."

"First course is a nice cream of potato soup with leeks," the woman replied. "Followed by a lovely fresh salad with mint and arugula. Third course will be roasted rack of lamb, whipped red potatoes, blanched string beans and sweet carrots. And for dessert, we have a delicious puff pastry with light Italian cream filling, served with fresh berries."

"Sounds delicious, Myrtle," Capone said. "Will you bring the wine for us?"

"Yes, Mr. Capone." The servant turned and walked out of the room.

"Wow," Jack said. "I ain't never had such fancy food like that before, Mr. Capone, sir. Al, I mean."

"No, no," Capone said sternly, pointing a finger at Jack. "No, I said your _brother_ could call me Al. I didn't say a goddamn word about you, kid."

A silence fell over the table, and Forrest felt his blood start to boil. Who was this son of a bitch to speak to his brother in such a way? Who died and made him the reigning emperor of the world? He felt himself start to rise from the table, and suddenly, Capone broke up into uproarious laughter.

"I'm just kiddin' wit' ya," he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes and both Howard and Jack joined in on the laughter. "Oh, man. You shoulda seen your faces." He glanced at Forrest. "And yours. You know how to take a joke, Forrest? You got a sense of humor?"

"No," Howard said bluntly, and he and Jack started cracking up all over again.

Capone's eyes twinkled at him again. "Maybe yours is just a higher level, huh? Hey, listen. I apologize for upsettin' your delicate temper. I'm a big kidder, y'know?"

Forrest grunted and started in on his soup. "When do we discuss this offer your man called me about?"

"Eh." Capone patted the air dismissively. "Later. At the club. You just got here. Eat, relax, get comfortable. After this, I'll take you to the finest tailor in the city."

"Tailor?" Forrest repeated. "What for?"

Capone smiled. "Hey, no offense, right? But youse guys, you come from a different part of the country. The place we're goin' – it's a classy joint. And I got some business friends in from outta town tonight. You'll meet 'em. They're from New York, New Jersey. They can be kinda stuck up." He winked. "Want you to make a good impression on 'em. Might be expandin' your business a little more than you thought."

Forrest shifted. "I ain't some fancy dandy, Mr. Capone. I ain't no nance. I got no trouble talkin' business right here, in what I got on right now. Never gave half a shit what anyone thought and I damn sure ain't about to start now."

Capone smiled wider, and got to his feet. Forrest felt his entire body tense, but Capone kept his manner easy, tossing his napkin next to his plate and coming around the side of the table.

"Listen," he said. "I just want ya to fit in, right? There's nothin' wrong wit' what you're wearin' – it just ain't appropriate for this place. You gotta dress up a little. Youse each can pick out a new suit, on me."

"Wow, really, Al?" Jack asked eagerly. "Gee, that's awful nice of you."

Forrest silenced him with a sharp look. "Mr. Capone, again I tell you, we ain't some dolls you can dress up and make act like how you want. This is who we are, take us or leave us."

Capone threw his head back and laughed. "This is rich. You really crack me up, Forrest. I offer to take you to the most expensive tailor in the city, offer to buy three new suits – and you tell me to go fuck myself. I like you, Forrest, I can tell you're a man about his business. But listen, you'll have a good time tonight, and just try it my way. Nobody's tryin' to change ya, all right? It's like that old sayin'. 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.' Well, here, it's 'when in Chicago, do as Al Capone does.'" He shrugged and smiled charmingly. "So, listen. You'll take a bath and wash that small-town pig stink out of your assholes, you'll comb your hair and have a shave, and you'll wear a brand new suit. Consider it a gift from me. You're three perfectly nice gentlemen, you ain't gotta change your manners. They're probably better than some of these guys from New York comin' down. And hell, maybe some of the big city girls'll give you three hicks a thrill. These dames here would just eat you Southern guys up with a spoon."

"Girls," Jack repeated, his eyes wide.

"Nothin' but the finest." He smiled at Forrest, his eyes doing that maddening twinkling dance again. He reached out and smacked Forrest heartily on the arm before heading back to his place to finish up his soup. "So cheer up, Forrest. You're in Chicago. Live a little."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here we meet Miss Mia in all her splendid, bratty glory. She's got a pretty keen sense of what's going on around her, and some opinions that a woman during this time period and in this life maybe shouldn't have. She's also incredibly snotty and soooooooo much fun to write. **

**Also, the song she sings is called "My Man", originally a French tune from 1916. It was jazzed up by Billie Holiday in the 1920s, and covered by Regina Spektor for the first Boardwalk Empire soundtrack. It is Miss Spektor's version I'm using here. Please check it out...it's fun!**

**And since I've shown you some mad love with two updates in one day, back to back - how about double the reviews, yeah? *puppy dog eyes***

**Chapter 3**

_Fall 1930, Chicago_

Mia Angela Scalise peeked out from behind the curtain at the back of the Cotton Club's stage to take a peek at the crowd. It was eleven-thirty, and it was a full house. It wasn't a surprise, though; she was a huge draw, and it helped that tonight lots of Alphie's friends from out of town were coming to kick their heels up. It would have been a surprise had the Cotton Club _not_ been teeming with people.

He'd made her promise that she would put on a good show tonight for his friends and business associates. She'd replied by asking when had he ever seen her put on a bad one?

She'd been out once tonight to sing several upbeat jazzy numbers. The crowd had been a little smaller then, and Alphie hadn't been there yet. But she had seen the young and handsome Charlie "Lucky" Luciano, winking at her from his seat, and his cronies, including that Jew "businessman" – a glorified term; he was really no better than a gangster in disguise – Meyer Lansky. She knew that Lucky was considered something of a scandal to the old Mustache Petes in New York because of his affiliation with Lansky. He had no problems doing business with people who weren't strictly Sicilian. He worked with the Jews and the Irish, too, and had made a lot of money doing it. Word on the street was that he was growing tired of working for Joey Masseria because of his traditional, old-fashioned way of thinking, and Mr. Masseria was growing equally tired of the younger man's hijinks. He just couldn't seem to wrap his pudgy head around the idea that the Irish and the Jews were as smart as the Italians, and even beyond that, he refused to work with anyone who wasn't a Sicilian. Which left him utterly frustrated with Lucky.

It was probably why Lucky and Alphie got along so well. Alphie wasn't even a Sicilian – his people came from Naples – and he wasn't necessarily picky about who he worked with either, so long as they were loyal and made him lots of money. Mia herself had been raised to the opinion that the Sicilians had it all figured out, but sometimes she forgot that Al was Neapolitan in heritage. It didn't really matter, anyway – her brother Johnny hadn't cared, so why should she?

There was definitely a wariness between the Al and Lucky, but at the same time, there was also respect. There was no fear of a power struggle, since Lucky operated in New York and Alphie ran Chicago. There might be a problem if one of them ever decided to move to the other's city, but Alphie had left New York a long time ago, and Lucky had no plans to ever go anywhere else. He was setting himself up nice to take control of New York one day.

"Unless you begged me to, babe," he'd told her before, grinning. "For you, I'd go anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. Even this god-forsaken town. Don't expect me to work under your pal there, though."

Lucky had a crush on her, as did most of the men, and made a valiant effort to take her to bed every time he saw her. But Alphie had made it very clear to his friends and associates that Mia was off-limits. She wasn't one of these random dames, a common _comare_ to be used and then discarded. She was a princess, Alphie told her all the time, she was royalty in his family, and no one would ever be good enough for her.

That might be true as far as _these_ boys went. Mia had been unattached for years, though sometimes she fretted about that; she was twenty-three and getting along, after all. Alphie made it impossible to actually find a fellow to settle down with. Not that she necessarily _really _wanted to – sure, she slept alone at night, but she also lived a lavish lifestyle and had every comfort she could hope for, and the respect that came with holding the place of Al's "sister". She'd have to have a man just like Al if she was going to give herself over, and so far, she'd never met anyone who fit the bill. She was untouchable, something to look at and be admired, but never to really touch. But it never stopped any of them from flirting with her, especially Lucky. And Mia would shamelessly flirt back, though admittedly, she'd let Lucky do more than just flirt with her on a few occasions. That was one of her little secrets – if Al ever found out that Lucky Luciano had ever laid a hand on her, he'd absolutely flip his lid and the fallout would be simply glorious.

So, she was a pretty little doll. She sang and she danced, she cast sultry looks and pouted her pretty lips and winked at the boys. What could it hurt Alphie's business, anyway? So he had a pretty surrogate sister with a nice voice who could dance and looked good in an evening gown – that could only draw in business. Not to mention, though he was dead, her brother Johnny was a legend in his own right, and had been Alphie's right-hand man, until some lousy bastard had killed him in cold blood.

Thank God for Alphie, though. He'd been there to take care of Mia and Johnny's wife, and had stepped into the protective big brother role that Johnny had once so fervently filled. He kidded with her, he took care of her, he gave her money every week, he never let her go anywhere without a bodyguard or two. He came to the club several times a week to see her, and he was always stopping by her apartment to check on her. The days where he couldn't see her he called, and they'd chat for an hour.

Their relationship drew a lot of attention; one of his crew had once made the mistake of making the comment that Alphie had to be fucking Mia behind closed doors, which absolutely not the case, ever. He'd ended up getting beaten within an inch of his life and had been brought before Mia to apologize for his complete and utter disrespect.

"Say some shit like that again," Alphie had promised him, "and I'll kill ya. _Capisce?"_

There had never been anything but a brotherly-sisterly relationship between them. Besides, Alphie was married, and Mia knew his family well. He wife, a nice Irish girl, always had her over for Sunday dinner every week. Alphie's son called Mia "Auntie". To imply that anything like that had was happening between them was too disrespectful for words.

Currently, Alphie was sitting at a table near the stage with three men Mia had never seen before. And next to him sat Lucky and Meyer and some of their associates. Mia wondered who the strangers were, and what the business was about. It was pretty rare for these men to be seen together all at once. Alphie must have lots of security tonight, Mia thought. Otherwise, this would make too gorgeous of a payday for any hitman from another family. Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, and Meyer Lansky, all at once?

Too, too gorgeous.

Mia was ready to be done for the night, but she had one more number to sing. She'd stick around for a drink, some flirtation, and Lucky probably wouldn't let her leave without trying to steal at least one kiss. She'd let it go further than just kissing a few times before, but she was so unpredictable that he never knew when he'd get caressed and when he'd get slapped. Also, she enjoyed teasing him. She'd never let him actually take her, and she'd never touched him below the belt. But she'd given just enough to keep him coming back, and it amused her to see someone as feared as Lucky completely powerless around her and ready to do whatever she told him to. The last time they'd messed around, he'd tried to grab one of her breasts, and he'd ended up with her fist in his eye hard enough to swell it shut immediately.

"You try that again, and I'm telling Alphie," she'd said coolly.

Conversely, there had been an occurrence that had taken place in her dressing room last month that made the attempted breast-grab seem like child's play. She had tried to resist, but he'd been so ardent and persistent, it had been impossible to hold him off any longer. And, anyway, it was hard to say no to him. Lucky Luciano kissed like the goddamn devil himself, so she'd been curious to see what else his mouth could do. As it turned out, it could do other pretty fantastic things.

Her eyes fell on the group of strange men, all looking shaved and showered and combed, wearing expensive suits that had to have come from Al's favorite tailor. They looked like they could be brothers, she thought, then remembered. Al had told her there was some trio of brothers coming up to visit from some place in Virginia that sounded completely boring. Bootleggers, they were, or "moonshiners", as Al had called him. The Bonaventuras? Mia thought, trying to place their name. No, they certainly didn't look Italian. Something that began with a "B".

There was a very tall one with deep-set pale eyes, with dark circles beneath them and curly brown hair parted and slicked neatly back. He looked like he didn't take anything seriously but liquor, judging by the way he kept tossing them back and flashing a "devil may care" sort of smile. Then there was a baby-faced one that Mia looked at with interest for a beat, then dismissed. He looked young enough to be her kid brother, though he was rather good-looking, with slicked back hair, big round eyes, full cheeks and an excited smile. Her eyes shifted to the third man. He had to be the middle brother, she suspected. Currently, he was in profile. But just then, he turned his head to glance over his shoulder, taking in the room, and her breath caught in her throat.

He was simply the most stunning man she'd ever laid eyes on.

His face was clean-shaven, and his very short medium-brown hair was parted on the side and slicked back a little. He wore a perfectly tailored severe black suit. She couldn't see what color his eyes were from here, but she _could_ see that pair of sinfully plump lips just below his perfectly straight nose. Now, _those _were lips that had to belong to a man who could kiss like the devil himself.

He had a very serious demeanor, she could see; he wasn't smiling, and hadn't been smiling for as long as she'd noticed him. Whereas his brothers seemed to be having a good time, enjoying the loud jazz music, chatting and laughing with the men around them, he sat quietly. He didn't drink, but he puffed on a cigar that Alphie kept making a show to relight every now and then. So. These men must have something Alphie _really _wanted. Otherwise, he'd never be so doting. Alphonse Capone didn't dote on anyone – people doted on him.

"Mia, we're up, doll," her pianist said, coming up behind her with a tumbler full of whiskey and ice. "You want a drink, honey?"

"Not just now," she said.

"No shortage of fellas out there for you tonight," her pianist said with a wink. "Girl could drunk off all those drinks."

"But I won't," Mia said with a smirk. "I never do."

The house lights in the club dimmed a little as a bright spotlight shone down at the front of the stage, illuminating her place. A slower tempo number began and she walked up to the edge of the stage slowly. She knew she looked incredible in her bright red velvet wrap gown. It was sleeveless with a low neckline, the straps that should have sat on her shoulders were pulled to the sides of her upper arms. The gown concealed a little surprise she'd be revealing a little later in the song – a strapless white corset with a tiny little ruffle of a skirt. It had feathers and rhinestones, and she wore it over fishnet stockings and tall silver sandals. She had long diamond earrings that brushed her shoulders and glittered in the light – they'd been a gift from Alphie. Her dark hair was pulled back into a complicated knot at the nape of her neck, and she'd applied enough kohl, rouge and lipstick so her face would be visible under the stage lights.

The song she was going to sing was a sad one, about a woman so in love with a man even though he treated her bad. There was nothing this man could do to make her leave, and even if she tried, she'd come crawling back on her knees anyway. She'd sung the song before, though she had never added the little surprise twist she was going to employ this time, and she knew that Lucky especially enjoyed when she sang the line, "What's the difference if I say I'll go away, when I know I'll come back on my knees someday?" But then again, he ought to enjoy it. He never _would_ actually ever get her on her knees. No matter how much he begged.

She began the song, bemoaning her sorry state with "her man", highlighting his less than stellar qualities, and singing that though she had competition with two or three other girls, she still loved him. As she sang, she couldn't help making eye contact with the handsome stranger sitting with Alphie. His face was completely devoid of any emotion or expression, but he was staring right at her.

When the pianist began his solo halfway through the song, it was time for Mia's little solo dance. This time it was a little different. She opened first one side of her red velvet wrap gown and then the other to the beat of the song, hearing gasps and whoops and cheers as she did. Surely no one would expect to see her corset beneath her heavy gown, and she was pleased with the reactions. She wasn't nervous in the slightest bit about showing all of her legs, encased in their finely meshed fishnet stocking, from ankle to hip. Her glittery high heels made her legs appear even shapelier as she slid a shoulder out, followed by the other, from beneath her dress before executing a series of graceful turns that brought her all the way out of it and gave her the opportunity to flash her backside a little and move her hips seductively. She casually tossed the dress toward the back of the stage before doing a few high kicks, managing to catch a glimpse Alphie's surprised face a moment before he frowned at her. She laughed; he'd told her to make it memorable, hadn't he?

Meanwhile Lucky was practically falling out of his chair, his eyes huge and glued to her figure. But his reaction wasn't the one she suddenly cared to see – her eyes shifted to the handsome stranger. His brothers' eyes were wide as saucers, but still his remained impassive, although she was fairly sure he didn't blink for a full fifteen seconds.

She hurried gracefully toward the front of the stage again to finish the song, a repeat of the bridge, but done in a dramatic way, with a big finish that had her projecting toward the back of the room as the music swelled with her.

"_What's the difference if I say I'll go away, when I know I'll come back on my knees someday? For whatever my man is…I am his…forevermore!"_

She smiled as her audience went wild. Men and women alike – her fans. Some admired her for her singing, some for her looks, some for her notoriety where her family connections were concerned. But for now – everyone was clapping for her little performance, and she loved the applause. She curtsied gracefully, checking out of the corner of her eye to see if the handsome stranger was clapping, too.

He wasn't.

She turned and swept off the stage, ignoring her red velvet gown. It would be picked up by someone else and brought back to her later.

In her dressing room, she changed out of her costume and into a backless halter-style black velvet gown that dropped to the floor and skimmed all of her curves. She freed her wavy dark hair from its knot, arranging it to flow over her shoulder. She wiped down some of her rouge and touched up her pouty red lips, and then went out to mingle.

She had barely set foot outside her door when Lucky appeared around the corner, practically tackling her. She was sure he'd used the excuse of needing to use the gentlemen's room, and based on the amount of whiskey he'd had to drink tonight, it would have been believable.

He took her by the shoulders and pressed her against the door, an amorous look in his slightly bloodshot eyes. "You were amazing, kid," he told her huskily, his eyes raking all over her face as he leaned toward her. "And those stems of yours on display like that – I bet every guy in here went crazy for ya."

"Did you?" she asked coolly, subtly averting her nose against the scent of alcohol souring his breath. She didn't like being attacked like this – he treated regular broads like this. Not her.

"You bet your sweet little bottom I did," he replied, bringing his mouth to latch onto her neck wetly. "Mm. Baby – take me inside this dressin' room of yours and let me show you how crazy you made me. I'll make _you_ crazy, just like I did that time you let me push up that skirt of yours and get my mouth all over your sweet pink. Remember that? I had you seein' stars, kid. You can't lie to me, doll. I felt every shiver and shake, heard every moan, and tasted all that sweetness. I think about that every day. I know you remember it like it was yesterday."

She certainly did. She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. "No," she said simply, and then pushed at his shoulder.

"No?" he repeated. "Who are you kiddin'? Let me in there, baby, and we'll have ourselves a little déjà vu on your dressing table."

"No," Mia replied. Who did he think he was? _She _picked and chose when they had liaisons, not him. "Let me go, Charles. You're not being very subtle and you know Alphie will just destroy you if he catches you."

"I ain't afraid of Al," Lucky said, oozing bravado.

Mia smiled sweetly and lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"

He met her gaze, and then reluctantly let her go. "Have it your way. For now. But you _ain't_ leavin' until you let me taste those pretty red lips of yours, at least. Don't even think about settin' one foot outside this joint until you come see me first. And we're gonna talk about that time in your dressing room. You got me so goddamn hard I walked around with sore balls for a week. That ain't how you treat a guy, 'specially not one like me." He glared down at her. "You _owe_ me."

Her temper flared instantly. "You don't tell me what to do," she said, her voice low and with a slightly dangerous edge to it. "And I don't owe you a goddamn thing. I do as I please, Charles, and whether or not you get anything from me is entirely _my_ discretion. You wanna get your cock wet? Get your money out and go find one of Alphie's whores. But don't you dare ever try to intimidate me. I could have you snuffed out before you ever knew what hit you. _Capisce, paisano?_"

Lucky glared at her again; _nobody_ talked to him like that, especially not a woman. But she wasn't just any woman, and he knew good and well that all she had to do was tell Al what had been going on, and Lucky would be a dead man. She saw all of these things flash through his eyes before he finally took another wobbly step back and lifted his hands in the air; silent surrender. Mia nodded and swept away. The nerve of him, she thought, annoyed. He thought because he ran New York, he ran her too. Well, he was in for a nice surprise. He wasn't getting a damned thing from her tonight.

As she entered the lounge area, Alphie immediately caught sight of her and waved her over. "Mia! Get over here. Come meet some of my friends, honey."

Mia smiled and walked over, her eyes glued to the handsome stranger. He was on his feet now, as they all were, and was casually puffing at his cigar. His spectacular lips were wrapped around it, and she thought that she shouldn't be leaving tonight without tasting _his _pretty lips. It'd certainly be a challenge, based on how cool he seemed, but Mia Angela Scalise always came out on top.

She always got what she wanted.

"Why, Alphie," she said as she reached his side. "Look at all your friends. Wherever did Mr. Luciano go?" She batted her lids slightly, and Alphie frowned at her.

"Why do I think you already know where," he replied flatly. "Honey, you remember Meyer Lansky. Meyer, you remember my Mia."

"Indeed I do." The young man took her hand and bent over it with practiced and insincere grace. He was nothing if not completely cultured in his manner, Mia thought. Too bad he was still a sniveling weasel of a man. "Miss Scalise. You performed wonderfully, and you look absolutely ravishing."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Lansky," she replied with a sweet smile. "You're looking well yourself. Less stressed than the last time I saw you. I suppose now that Mr. Rothstein is gone, you're free to enjoy your partnership with Mr. Masseria in the open, without any danger of – scrutiny."

She felt Alphie's elbow in her ribs, sharp and hard, but she maintained her sweet smile and steady gaze at Meyer. A shadow passed over his face and his brow lowered. He was angry. Good. Mia wanted to laugh. For years it had been no secret that Lansky had openly worked for Arnold Rothstein, while having not-so-secret dealings with Joe Masseria to make a handsome amount of side money. When Arnold Rothstein met his demise at the hands of a bookie he hadn't paid, Lansky had openly supported Masseria. Mia was unconvinced Meyer didn't have a hand in Rothstein's murder. She had never liked Meyer on the few other occasions she had met him, and she didn't like that Al had such a snake around him. He refused to listen to her, telling her she was being silly, and that she needed to mind her own business and let him tend to his. Mia had never been good at hiding her feelings and as a result their meetings were typically acidic, since Meyer felt she was an entitled little princess and had made it very clear that he did not understand why Alphie had "adopted" her if he wasn't going to fuck her.

"We were all…very grieved to hear of Mr. Rothstein's passing," Meyer said through gritted teeth.

"I'm sure," Mia said, falsely soothing. "Just as I'm sure that you and Mr. Masseria expressed your shared grief with a wreath sent to his funeral. Huh?"

"Mia," Alphie said warningly. He pulled at her elbow. "Let me introduce you to some new friends of mine. These are the Bondurant boys I was telling you about. From Virginia."

"Virginia," Mia repeated, her eyebrows raising. She looked at the young one, who was staring at her with huge eyes, and offered another sweet smile, this one somewhat less insincere than the one she had offered Lansky. "How positively quaint."

"I'm Jack, ma'am," the young one said, pink-cheeked and eager and so precious. He stuck out his hand, and Mia gently inserted hers.

"Miss," she corrected.

His face looked confused. "How's that, now?"

"It's _Miss_," she repeated. "I'm not married, and I'm not some old woman. _Miss. _And it's _Scalise. _And I'm charmed." She winked and gave his fingers a little waggle.

"Don't mind him, _Miss_ Scalise," the tall one said, giving her a confident, wry smile as he reached for her hand. They all had deep southern twangs that made her wonder if they were slow backwooded hicks; but the eloquent way the tall one bent over her fingers showed a little air of culture, or at least good raising. They must have had one of those southern-belle type mothers. "He don't know how to act around a lady purdy as you."

"Oh, you flatter," Mia said coolly, smiling. "Well. I suppose he's forgiven then, isn't he?"

"Gee, Miss Scalise, I sure do think you're a fine singer," Jack babbled, and Mia turned her smile back on him. "Can't step foot in a single place in this town without hearin' one of your songs. I 'specially liked that last little ditty you sung up there. In that – that white, um, getup."

"Ditty?" she repeated mildly, lifting a brow. _Getup?_

"Aw, for Christ's sake, Jack, buy the girl a drink already," Alphie laughed from her side. "I toldja she was a little stuck up brat, didn't I?"

"Ah –" Jack's face flushed red.

"You did no such thing," Mia said, turning to look at Alphie with a feigned offended expression on her face. "Why, Alphie. That's just rude."

"What'd I tell ya about callin' me that in public?" he said, pretending to be mad.

"Since when do I listen to a damned thing you ever say?" she shot back, and he pretended to make a fist and sock her.

"Why, I oughtta –" He jutted out his jaw, then laughed. "You nut. Hey, listen, Dollface. You gonna ignore this man all night? Who's bein' rude now?"

Mia licked her lips and followed Al's gesture, right at the handsome brother, standing in front of her. She'd studiously avoided looking at him the whole time she'd been standing here, but she'd felt his eyes on her. She looked at him steadily now, watching a plume of smoke curl up from between his incredible lips. He really was just too good-looking for words – he'd had a fresh shave, she could tell, and it highlighted his strong jaw, which was currently clenched, and his smooth skin. His beautiful cold eyes bored into her and she thought they might be any color between blue and gray.

"And who might you be?" she asked coolly. He blinked slowly, but said nothing. Howard shot him a look, then shook his head and leaned toward her.

"This here's my brother, Forrest, Miss Scalise," he told her. "Seems he don't know a thing about actin' right around purdy ladies, neither."

"I see," Mia said, not breaking eye contact. "Well. Mr. Forrest – Bondurant, is it?"

He flicked his head slightly in acknowledgment of her question.

"Mr. Bondurant." She shifted her weight, pushing out a hip, and it drew his eye for a moment before he slowly moved it back to her face. "I'm sure Chicago is quite different from your village in Virginia. How are you enjoying this fine city?"

He flicked ash off the end of his stogie, sending some to the floor and almost getting it on the hem of her long dress. She glanced down at it in irritation, then back up at him.

"I ain't," he replied simply.

"Forrest there is homesick, ain't ya?" Alphie said. He seemed to be tremendously amused by this man. Mia couldn't decipher why; he was being utterly rude.

But still – he was so devastatingly handsome, she was almost willing to overlook it.

"That's a shame," she replied, batting her lashes a little. "Perhaps you'd enjoy it with a – different companion." She was openly and shamelessly flirting with him, but it was really more of a test than a true flirtation. She'd dangled the bait, and she'd be utterly disappointed if he took it, like every other joe she'd ever done the same thing with.

He met her gaze steadily. "I appreciate the concern, but it's doubtful, ma'am. I ain't no city-slicker."

Mia slowly stepped toward him. "I said it's _Miss, _and it's _Scalise_, so cut the 'ma'am' stuff. I tend to get a little impatient when I have to repeat myself."

"Sounds like a personal issue," Forrest replied, glancing at a point over her shoulder. "Ma'am."

Mia smirked – he was a challenge, indeed. She studied him. "I've decided that Mr. Forrest Bondurant here can buy me a drink." There was an actual chorus of groans from Lansky's and Luciano's men, and one very audible one from Jack, and it made her smile.

Forrest looked at her sharply. "Pardon me?"

Mia took another step until she was very close. She could smell a heady aroma on him – a mixture between some expensive cologne that no doubt came with the suit and the smoky scent of his cigar. It was mouthwatering. She rested her hands lightly on his chest and immediately felt him stiffen and sensed his anger at her gall. It thrilled her. She pushed up on her toes and brought her red lips next to his ear.

"I said, I'd like _you_ to buy me a drink, Mr. Bondurant." She licked her lips, letting them lightly graze his ear lobe. "I'll have champagne, if you don't mind." She lowered herself, and stepped away, and the look of incredulous annoyance on his face warmed her heart – she'd cracked that mask of impassivity, finally, even if he wasn't exactly smiling at her. She stepped away.

"All due respect, ma'am," he said icily, "this ain't my establishment. Seems you've got plenty of friends here willing to see to your needs."

She smiled sweetly. "I do," she said. "But I don't want drinks from them. I want a drink from _you_." She glanced around, and Al was shaking his head at her, smirking. He was used to her naughty behavior. "I'll leave you men to talk," she added, and gestured toward a small table against a wall a few steps away. "I'll just sit here." She turned and looked at Forrest over her shoulder. "Oh, and do hurry. I'm quite parched."

His eyes narrowed at her, practically glowing with dislike, and she laughed out loud.

Oh, she was going to have some fun tonight, indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and follows, guys! I hope you're liking this! So I told browneyedgirl that I'd wrap up the flashback this chapter, butttttttt I need one more. We'll be in Virginia by Chapter 6. Thanks for hanging in there!**

**In this chapter we meet a certain ooky character. Any guesses who it might be?**

**Special thanks to my lovelies Nik and Mals for bouncey-bounce idea time. MWAH!**

**Chapter 4**

_Fall 1930, Chicago_

Forrest stared angrily down at the fancy crystal goblet of champagne in his hand after the waiter brought it to him. He never would have even ordered it – let that little entitled brat get her own champagne – but Al had flagged the waiter down laughingly when he'd walked by.

"Miss Scalise wants a glass of champagne," he'd told the waiter, clapping Forrest on the back. "Courtesy of this gentleman right here. It won't taste the same unless it comes from him, is what she's sayin'."

Now, the waiter returned with the golden bubbly liquid, handing him the goblet with a little bow before disappearing.

"Better take it over there, Forrest," Howard said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh. "She strikes me as the type of gal that don't like to be kept waitin'."

"You are goddamn right about that," Al said with a rueful chuckle. He made an elegant bow and winked at Forrest. "Right this way, my fine young lad."

Forrest frowned. "We gonna talk business at some point, or what?" He shoved the glass into Jack's hand, some of the liquid sloshing over the side. "I ain't got time for these games. Here, Jackie, you're pantin' after her worse than a bitch in heat. Why don't you go be her personal butler for the evenin'."

And goddamn the entire hide of his little brother, Forrest thought irritably, if he didn't go scampering off toward the girl seated coolly at a high table in the corner, sleek legs crossed, one of them peeking out through the long slit in her dress. He watched through narrowed eyes as Jack made a show of actually _bowing_ before placing her goblet on the table before her.

He folded his arms and watched as the girl stared down at the goblet, then at Jack. There was no way he could hear what was being said, but by the expression on her face, the sarcastic arch to her eyebrow, and the way Jack's face got all red, she must be giving him what-for. Then she reached up to pat Jack's cheek, placed the goblet back in his hand, and waved a delicate lacquered hand in an unmistakable gesture of dismissal, in Forrest's direction.

_Take it back._

Jack had a sheepish look on his red face as he toted the sorry glass of champagne back toward his brothers and host and handed it over to Forrest. "She, um, she said she don't want it 'less you bring it over," he said.

Capone chuckled. "She's a piece-a work, that girl. So, whatcha gonna do, Forrest? You gonna leave a girl hangin' all night? Let me tell ya, if she's gotta go get her own drink, neither one of us is ever gonna hear the end of it."

Forrest was beside himself with the foolishness. He fixed Capone with a steely glare. "Mr. Capone, I ain't no waiter, and I ain't no doormat for some pretty little singer o' yours to step on. I know she's somethin' like a sister to you, and I ain't meanin' no disrespect, but I ain't got time for this." He set the goblet down on a table and caught the look of dark amusement on the girl's face from across the room. "Now, if you don't mind. I would sure like to set about discussin' business things with you."

Capone studied him, his dark eyes twinkling merrily. "It's your funeral," he said finally. "Although I gotta say, I don't appreciate you puttin' me in a position to get an earful later on." He clapped Forrest on the back. "We got a nice little back room where we can talk in private." He glanced over his shoulder, seeing another man approach. Forrest eyed him steadily; it was the man named Luciano, the one everyone called "Lucky". Forrest didn't like him; he looked sneaky, like one not to be trusted.

"Lucky," Capone greeted him. "Where you been hidin'? You find one-a my dames to snuggle up with for a few minutes and a few dollars?" He winked.

"Somethin' like that," Luciano replied, seeming to be annoyed by something. He glanced at Forrest. "Don't think we've been properly introduced, though we shared a table for a little while."

"Forrest Bondurant, and his brothers Howard and Jack, up from Virginia," Capone said, and Forrest warily shook Luciano's hand.

"Pleased to meet you," Luciano said. Forrest merely grunted in reply.

"We was just headed back here to talk business," Capone said. "Why don't you stick around up here and keep Lansky company?"

Luciano looked surprised, then angry. "What, I ain't invited? What is this?"

Capone's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. You're invited. I invited you to this club, didn't I? So why don't you take your invitation and have a seat and a drink, huh, Charlie?"

Forrest relaxed a little; he hadn't liked the idea of Capone inviting Luciano and Lansky back to talk with them. Luciano sat down hard in his seat, and scooped up the goblet of champagne that had been meant for Miss Scalise and drank it down in a single gulp.

Capone turned back to Forrest. "I am gonna invite my brother, Ralph, though. We're family, I'm sure you understand."

They passed Miss Scalise's table and she looked at them with an eyebrow raised.

"Got my drink, finally, have you?" she asked Forrest snippily. He looked at her, saying nothing, wondering how something so pretty could be such a little – well, bitch.

Capone leaned down, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Go and find Ralphie, willya, honeybunch? Bring him to the back room. Bring that nice bottle of champagne, the one from the kitchen that I was savin', too."

"What do I look like?" the girl drawled, her eyes boring into Forrest for a moment before shifting to Al. "A waitress? Go get one of your dames to be your cocktail servant."

"But you're sittin' right here wit' nothin' to do," Capone replied, smiling but looking annoyed. "Now get off your spoiled ass and go get Ralph."

Forrest watched as the girl rolled her eyes and slid off her chair. He couldn't help eyeing her shapely legs as they flashed through the slit in her gown, and then she was sweeping off toward the back of the club. Forrest looked at her bare back, looked at the outline of her shoulder blades and the indentation of her spine.

Capone cleared his throat, fixing him with a stern look. "I know she's somethin' to look at, but I don't take kindly to having her ogled, 'specially not right in front of me, y'understand?"

"Wasn't oglin' nothin'," Forrest muttered, and then turned and headed toward the back room, his brothers following behind.

"Damn, Forrest, you sure are bein' a prickly bastard," Howard announced, taking a seat at the table. "Why don't you lighten up a little bit and try to enjoy y'self? Or did that pretty gal upset the delicate workin' of your internal state?" He snickered.

"Yeah, Forrest," Jack chimed in, but he shut up his laughing quick when he saw the look Forrest flashed him. "Y'all shoulda heard her givin' me hell for bringin' that champagne over to her. She says to me, 'I believe I made it clear just which of you I wanted to bring me a drink, and it wasn't you, honey.'" He flushed a little. "She did call me honey, though."

"For the last time, I ain't no goddamn waiter," Forrest replied. "And I ain't here to be toyed with. If you two jackasses want to play fetch-and-carry for some spoiled brat, that's your prerogative. But I'll have none of that."

Al walked into the room then with his brother, Ralph, holding an enormous bottle of champagne. "All right, fellas, let's get down to business, yeah? Forrest, cigar?"

"Just a relight, and I can do it m'self," he replied, and picked up a book of matches lying on the table. "So. I got issue with that thirty percent your man mentioned on the phone the other day."

"I got issue wit' your issue," Capone's brother Ralph said immediately. "This is our racket, y'understand? We're bringin' _you_ in. We don't have to use your liquor. We chose _you_. We make the rules. You like it or leave it."

"Don't you go actin' all high and mighty with us, now," Forrest said reasonably, and watched the way Ralph's eyes got huge with anger. "I think we all know that you make the majority of your money from women. You might be into the bootleggin' racket some, but you ain't all the way in it like we are. And let's be clear – everyone is shippin' their liquor in from Florida, and those 'leggers down there are startin' to get a little slick with their prices, so that's why you came to us. You mighta chose us, Mr. Capone, but let's not pretend that you don't _need_ us." He puffed on his cigar and met the man's stare evenly.

"Toldja he was a smart one, a cool one, didn't I, Ralphie?" Capone said, nudging his brother.

"I don't like the way he talks," Ralph said, frowning. "I think he's actin' a little bit big for his britches."

"All due respect, Mr. Capone," Forrest said equably, "I think it's you who's actin' big for his britches. Not me."

"Hey, listen to reason, Ralph, huh?" Al said, elbowing his brother. "All right, look. The way I figure it now, I can increase your salary to sixty thousand a load based on the demand I got. My cut still stays at thirty percent. That's non-negotiable." He fixed Forrest with an imposing look. "That leaves you boys with fourteen grand a head. Is that a little better than nine?"

Forrest merely puffed on his cigar again. "What sorta volume we talkin'?"

Al turned his mouth down at the corners and shrugged. "I like big loads, enough to be able to distribute to joints between Chicago and Cicero and maybe outside of Illinois a little bit. So maybe four loads a year. How many bottles to a case?"

"We don't bottle, we jar," Forrest replied. "And about twenty jars to a case."

"Jars," Al repeated, sounding amused. "All right. Let's see. I'll want five hundred cases four times a year. I'll contact you a month out from when I want the load, and I'll send trucks to you. Got it?"

"Need longer'n a month," Forrest said. "We have a set process for our 'shine. It's as good as it is because we age it longer'n you really need to. We got a big distillery and plenty of basins and barrels, but for the volume you're talkin', we'll need two months."

"Two months." Al nodded. "Sixty grand a load minus my percentage, five hundred cases a load, twenty jars a case. Four times a year and I'll give you two months' notice."

"And if we wanna do business with other folks?" Jack piped up, and Forrest shot him a sharp look. It was an unspoken rule that his brothers let him do the talking in meetings.

Al glanced at him. "Other folks like who?"

Jack shrugged, his face reddening. "I dunno, sir. I just meant – well, I reckon I was just speakin' in generalities."

Al shrugged. "I don't give a rat's balls if you wanna do business wit' anybody else, so long as you have my stuff ready to go when I want it. As long as your other business endeavors don't interfere with mine, that's up to you." He paused. "I think we oughtta keep it quiet though, about us workin' together. I won't let anybody know who's supplyin' me wit' the liquor, and it would be an awful kindness to me if you wouldn't let anyone know you're supplyin' it to me."

He glanced around the table, his eyes landing on Forrest. "We got a deal, _paisanos_?"

Forrest glanced across the table at Howard. It sounded like a decent deal to him. He didn't trust anything, of course, but it sounded all right. Two months would be tight to have to produce all that liquor, but they could do it, especially if they were going to be making per load – apiece – damn near what they made in six months.

Howard nodded almost imperceptibly. Forrest glanced back at the Capones.

"We'll accept your deal," he said. "But we'd very much appreciate the first load's wages up front. Includin' your percentage, which I'd take very kindly if you didn't accept this first go-round."

Al laughed darkly. "You want me to fork over sixty grand, just like that? For nothin'?"

"I do," Forrest said. "And it ain't nothin'. Consider it a gesture of goodwill among business partners. You forfeit your thirty percent this first time, you pay us the full amount now, and we'll get started on your five hundred cases soon's we get back to Franklin. And those are our terms."

"You got some balls," Ralph observed menacingly. Forrest glanced at him without blinking. He must be Al's guard dog.

"I do," Forrest said calmly, "but that ain't what this is. This is a deal, where both sides get what they want."

"Yeah, all right," Al said with a sigh. Ralph looked up at him sharply. "Calm yourself, Ralph. Sixty grand is a nice investment, here."

"Considerin' you're just gonna turn around and upsell for three times what you bought it from me for, I'd say you'll get your 'investment' back on half of a load," Forrest said calmly.

Al flashed Ralph a charming smile. "Man's gotta point, Brother Ralph."

Ralph sighed. "I don't like you," he said to Forrest. "But I heard you make the finest corn whiskey and apple brandy that can be found in this half of the country. So, fine. We'll write you up a nice check for sixty grand, for you and your brothers."

"Cash," Forrest said, flicking ash off his cigar. "No checks. Cash."

A look of fury came across Ralph's face, but Al intervened. "All right, all right," he said. "Cash. Fine."

"You outta your fuckin' mind?" Ralph demanded of his younger brother.

Al's face immediately turned cold, and he eyed his older brother with an anger that surprised even Forrest. "You questionin' my decisions, Ralph?"

Ralph stared stubbornly back at his brother, but said nothing for a long time. Finally, he got up from his chair and walked toward the window at the back of the room, the one that overlooked downtown Chicago, his hands on his hips and his shoulders tense. Al nodded once and glanced back at Forrest, his face merry and smooth again.

"Forgive my brother," he said. "He's just lookin' out for me, I'm sure you can understand that. Wants to make sure I don't get fucked in the deal." He shrugged, then reached for the champagne. "Sixty grand in cash to the three o' you. First load in two months. We agreed?"

Forrest nodded. Al extended his hand, and Forrest reached for it slowly, and gave it a good, firm shake. Al grinned, then popped the cork on the bottle. He grabbed five goblets and splashed champagne into each.

"We're gonna be rich, fellas," he said with a smile. "Ralphie, get your cranky ass over here and celebrate. Howard, that's for you, take it while it's hot. Jackie, that's for you. Forrest, maybe you wanna save that and take it out there to my little sis, huh? Drink up, fellas._ Salut!_"

* * *

Mia sipped at her second glass of champagne. She was bored to death, still sitting at her little table, ignoring the stares that Lucky kept sending in her direction. He'd bought her the first two glasses of champagne, which she would have refused normally, but there was nothing else to do at the moment besides drink.

She was both annoyed and amused that Forrest was putting up such a fight against her charms. It usually only required a little eyelash-batting and a few pretty smiles to make a man do what she wanted, but he was proving to be quite the little challenge. She was determined to make him eat from the palm of her hand before the night was through; he'd never be able to get her out of his mind by the time she was through with him.

She sensed movement at her elbow. She glanced up, and Lucky was by her side, leaning across the table, smiling at her. Normally that smile could have convinced her to go somewhere private with him, but now, it merely annoyed her.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, reaching out a fingertip and stroking it over her forearm. "Maybe you're reconsiderin' my offer from earlier."

"Which offer was that?" she asked icily, withdrawing her arm. "The one where I pay my apparent 'debt' to you?"

"Hey, now," he said soothingly, licking his lips and eyeing her cleavage. "I was just talkin' from hurt pride, I didn't mean nothin' by it. C'mon, kid, ain't nothin' exciting happening out here. Let's go make our own excitement in your dressin' room." He leaned closer. "Ever since I got a taste o' you, I can't think of nothin' else. Won't you spread those thighs for me and let me go in for a few licks?" He nuzzled her cheek. "I know you want it. Then after I get you nice and wet, maybe you'll finally let me introduce you to what a real man feels like, slidin' in and outta you." He let out a low groan in her ear. "I bet you're tight as a virgin, too. Shit, you practically are one, after all."

Mia's hand flew out and connected sharply with his cheek, and he jumped a foot, rattling the table and knocking her glass over. Champagne splashed onto her gown and she glared at him furiously.

"You ever talk to me like that again, and I will end your life," she hissed. "I've told you before, I'm not one of your whores you can charm into bed. You'll talk to me with respect, or you'll deal with the consequences. And just look at my dress, you ape – it's ruined!"

"We got a problem here, kids?"

Al's casual tone met her ears and they both looked up sharply. He was watching them with an eyebrow raised, his arms folded, and then he fixed Lucky with a deep, penetrative look that was so intimidating even Mia's belly fluttered a little.

"Nah," Lucky replied immediately, stepping away from the table. "No problem, Al. Just a little accident."

Mia glared at him, then turned to Al. Behind him was Ralph, and on Al's other side was Forrest. He was glaring steadily at Lucky.

"Your friend Lucky here spilled champagne all over my goddamn gown like a big jerk," she informed him, getting up. "So now I'm irritated and wet _and _thirsty."

"Why, you poor thing," Al said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, Forrest. You haven't touched your champagne, speakin' of. That's top-shelf, expensive stuff there, my friend. You don't like it? Too high-class for your taste?"

"Don't drink," Forrest replied.

"Well, why don't you hand it over to my Mia here, so she'll stop her whinin' and you'll stop wastin' my good supply?" He winked at Mia.

Forrest looked at her with an expression of consternation, then slowly reached out his hand. Mia looked at him in surprise, then reached for the glass. Her fingers brushed his, and she jumped slightly at the contact, feeling strangely shy all of a sudden.

"Guess you got your drink from me, after all," he said flatly.

"Yes," Mia said, and then cleared her throat since her voice came out in a squeak. "Yes. Well, it's about time." She tossed her head haughtily.

"Hey, honey, how about one more song?" Al suggested.

Mia took a sip of her champagne. It _was _the top-shelf stuff, tangy with a little bit of sweetness to it and lots of bubbles that filled her belly pleasantly. "My gown is ruined. I look like a wet dog. I'm not going on stage like this."

Al looked at her reproachfully. "You got a black dress on," he said flatly. "And maybe a few drops of champagne. It's not ruined, and you can't see a goddamn thing."

"No."

Al sighed. "Why don't you go put that white thing back on that you had earlier. It'll make these apes in here sit up and pay attention. I feel like celebratin' before we close for the night, kid. Me and these guys here just struck up a nice deal." He was grinning ear to ear, so Mia guessed it must have been a very nice deal, after all. And, at this point, she could tell that Al wasn't asking her. So she sighed and nodded.

"Fine," she said, drawing it out. "But just one more song."

"'Somebody Loves Me'," Al requested with a wink. "I love that one."

"Yeah, yeah." She waved him off, and turned to head to her dressing room.

* * *

Al watched Mia walk off, Forrest's glass of champagne in her hand. He glanced back at Luciano, who had rejoined Meyer Lansky, who was involved in some sort of card game. Al narrowed his eyes; he'd walked up on the tail end of whatever had happened between him and Mia, and judging from the fury on her face, he didn't like the implications. He knew that Luciano had been sniffing around Mia from day one, and he suspected that maybe something had happened between them; Mia was just too goddamn flirty for her own good sometimes, and Lucky had a rep for fucking anything that walked. He'd asked her before if Luciano had ever tried putting the moves to her, and she'd just laughed and waved him off. "Oh, Alphie," she'd say. "I can handle Lucky. He's a puppy."

Puppy or no, he didn't like the way Luciano kept glancing over his shoulder in the direction that Mia had just gone off in every two seconds, like he was contemplating getting up and following. Nothing better be going on, he thought, or else he'd be forced to cut the man's balls off. And that would probably ruin whatever shaky friendship they had now, not to mention affect future business endeavors.

He had to make the rounds of the club, talk to all his friends that had shown up, and get with Ralph to get someone they trusted to get the money from the bank. Not to mention there was already too much talk about the relationship he had with Mia – he'd never touched a single hair on her head in any manner other than brotherly, but for some reason, people thought he was doing the job on her every day and night. It was borderline disgusting, and the last thing he needed was rumors of someone seeing him follow her to her dressing room getting back to his wife. She got along fine with Mia, even invited her over to play with Sonny and eat Sunday dinner, but Al knew she was suspicious. Mia was young, and beautiful, and had a little curvy figure any woman would kill for. How could Al _not _be attracted?

But he wasn't. She was a beautiful girl, sure, but every time he looked at her, he saw Johnny. More accurately, he saw Johnny with two gaping, bloody holes in his face where his eyes used to be. The ones that Al himself had put there.

He needed to go handle business, but he needed to also make sure Mia was all right. Frankie was a little too drunk at the moment, and Ralph was just as busy as he was. He glanced over his shoulder. That kid Jack Bondurant seemed to be a big fan, but Al thought for all he was a bootlegger, he was as soft as pissy toilet paper – if someone started trouble, Jackie-Boy there would crumple like a broken vase. And the oldest brother, Howard, he looked a little too unstable to be protecting someone. Al's eyes lit on Forrest and he smiled. If ever there was a guy in this joint that he didn't need to worry about trying to fuck his little sister, it was this man right here. Forrest had been barely polite, but there was an unmistakable gleam of dislike in his eyes whenever he looked at Mia.

And it was understandable, he reasoned, strolling over to the man. Mia could come on strong sometimes with that entitled princess act of hers. Then again, she was a little princess in his empire. He looked after her, made sure she was safe and had everything she needed. She was rich, she was famous, and she was spoiled. It stood to reason she'd act that way.

"Forrest," he said, drawing the man's attention. "Listen. Will you do me a favor?"

"And just what is that?" Forrest asked evenly.

"I don't like the way certain folks in here been eyein' Mia," he said, glancing pointedly at Luciano, who was again for the millionth time staring over his shoulder. "She's goin' to go change for her last number, and her dressin' room is kinda far back in the club. Would you follow her back there, make sure no one messes wit' her?"

Forrest looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and surprise. "Why would you ask me?"

"Kind of a long story, but you're the only man in here I trust," Al said, patting him on the back. "I'm askin' as a friend. No funny business."

"What is it with you two?" Forrest asked bluntly. "You're so…concerned about her."

Al regarded him coldly. "Not that it's any of your business, but her brother and I were very close. Like brothers ourselves. And she's like a little sister to me. I watch out for her, take care of her. And that's it."

Forrest nodded. "Just curious. And, I suppose I can go see about her." He turned abruptly, and slowly made his way toward the back of the club. He passed Luciano, and both men exchanged a long glance that was full of an acidity that interested Al.

He shrugged. Now that he knew Mia was looked after, he could get down to business.

* * *

On the way to her dressing room, Mia stopped by the bar to finish off her champagne and get a refill. She really didn't feel like singing another song, but, Alphie was insistent, so she better do as she was told.

Her dressing room was situated at the back of the club on the second floor. It was nice and remote when she wanted privacy, but at other times it seemed so very far away. Walking through the dim hallways past back rooms always afforded her an interesting glimpse into people's lives.

Uncle Ralphie ran the club, and it was too easy for him to use it as an outlet for the prostitution business, just as they used it for their liquor business, too. Many of the backrooms were lounges with couches and other comforts that the johns could take the whores for a quick bounce. On plenty of occasions, Mia had walked past opened doors, seeing one of Alphie's broads riding the cock of a paying customer, or on her knees with a mouthful. She'd seen this for years, and was no stranger to nudity and various forms of sexplay. Sometimes the johns would want two broads together, and Mia recalled several occasions where she'd seen one of the whores with her head buried between thighs of another whore while the john stroked himself as he watched.

Interestingly enough, despite all her teasing and even her little trysts with Lucky, Mia was relatively innocent. She'd lost her virginity when she was sixteen to a neighborhood boy, and let him come back for seconds and thirds and fourths. By the time she was seventeen, he was gone, and she'd never lain with a man since. Truth be told, it wasn't just pleasure at watching Lucky practically beg her for it every time he was around that kept her putting him off – she was actually a little shy about that, a little nervous, so she covered it all up with bravado.

There was nothing wrong with a few kisses, she reasoned, and Lucky was an incredible kisser. And the time she'd allowed him to pull her legs apart and place his mouth between her thighs, well, that had certainly been most enjoyable. He'd made her come apart at the seams, her body trembling and shaking, grasping at his hair to press his face harder between her legs, but when it was all done, she'd pushed him aside and pulled her skirt back down. She'd seen that tent in his trousers from a mile away, but she'd smiled coyly and thanked him for the visit, before opening the door and thumbing him out.

It kept him wanting more, and she kept stalling. He was nearing the end of his patience with her, she could tell.

She understood how sex worked, and she had no problem at all touching herself when she wanted that release. She was so used to it by now that it was automatic. But she did think about and miss what it felt like to have a male between her legs, even though at the time it had been a boy and not a man. Alphie kept her on such a short leash, though, and none of these other joes was worth her time. Not to mention, Lucky really did have such a big goddamn mouth, that to let him have what he wanted would surely result in disaster.

Besides, it was just too much fun, watching Lucky Luciano beg.

At that moment, the door to one of the rooms down the hall opened, and a man stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. Mia glanced at him curiously; he had black hair parted right down the middle and slicked back with a whole lot of grease. He had beady eyes that she instantly disliked, deep laugh lines, and wore a black pinstripe suit and, curiously, black leather gloves.

He glanced up at her as she approached, his eyes locking on in an obvious stare. She refrained from rolling her eyes; she was used to being stared at.

"Well, well," he said in a nasally voice. "What have we here? Good evening to you, miss. Boy, I sure liked your numbers tonight."

"Thank you," Mia said loftily, keeping to the other side of the hall. She tried to sweep past him, but he stepped in her way.

"Where's the fire?" he asked softly with a little grin, his beady eyes fixed on her. "Why don't you hang around and have a little chat with me?"

Mia gave him a falsely sweet smile. "Well, that does sound just lovely, but I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry."

He glanced down the hall. "You headin' to your dressing room?"

Mia narrowed her eyes. "I believe that's my business, and none of yours. If you're through enjoying yourself back here, it's customary that you return to the club now. Patrons aren't allowed to linger back here once they're…finished."

"Maybe not," the man said, leaning into her face and making her back up. "But then again, it's not every day a fella randomly encounters the beautiful lounge singer, either."

"You might want to rethink what you're thinking," she said, frowning. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"You're Al Capone's little kept bitch," the man replied, stepping close enough that she stepped back against the opposite wall. "So, yeah, I know who you are. Ask me if I care."

"You will, once Alphie gets through with you," Mia said, making her voice sound steady and unscared. "Not to mention Ralph. Now get out of my face before I scream."

"Scream?" the man repeated, sounding nervous. Mia felt a surge of triumph, and then it was quickly snuffed out with the man very suddenly grabbed her head, one gloved hand pressing down hard against her mouth and the other grabbing her by the throat to hold her in place. She tried to claw at him, her eyes wide and rolling, but he deftly caught her wrists in his hands and held them down.

"How – how are you gonna scream _now_?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused. "I got you by the mouth, see, and you're not gonna be doing any screaming."

She made desperate noises against his hand, trying to bite through the thick leather of his glove, but to no avail.

"We're gonna talk, me and you," he said almost lovingly in her ear. "We're gonna go into one of these little rooms and have ourselves a nice, quiet chat. And you're gonna answer all my questions. Got it, sweetcheeks?"

"How 'bout you take your dirty goddamn hands off the lady, just now."

The deep voice sounded strange in the quiet hallway, almost unfamiliar, and Mia tried to look in the direction it came from. She was absolutely shocked to see Forrest standing there, his hands fisted into his pockets, glaring at the man that had accosted her.

Away from the loudness of the club, Mia was able to really hear his voice – deep and rich and low, and the twang she'd thought she'd heard earlier sounded much softer, more liquid. Then again, he hadn't been speaking very loudly in the hallway.

"And just who might you be, cowboy?" the man holding her said, sounding amused. His beady eyes shifted to Mia. "Another fan of yours, maybe?"

Forrest pulled his hands out of his pockets, and Mia caught a flash of metal in the dim light of the wall sconces. "I ain't gonna repeat myself. But you got three seconds to step away 'fore I make you regret ever gettin' outta bed this mornin'."

The man laughed. "You fucking hick. You think I'm intimidated by you? Why don't you be a good lad and get one of these whores around here to suck your cock. This one's mine."

_Click._

Mia froze as she heard the unmistakable sound of metal on metal and Forrest lifted a pistol and pointed it at the man's face. He looked very calm.

"If you think I got one issue with puttin' a hole in the middle of your face, you'd be mistaken," he said quietly. "Let her go and git."

The man's eyes widened with genuine surprise at the gun, and he began to laugh softly under his breath. He slowly released Mia's wrists and pulled his hand off her mouth, and she instantly started to beat at his chest with her fists. He backed up a little from the force of her onslaught, his gloved hands in the air, but he looked darkly amused.

"How dare you!" she screamed. "You don't touch me! You don't lay a hand on me! How –"

"Mia," Forrest said sharply. "Stop it. Get away."

Mia dropped her hands and fell against the wall, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Forrest kept the gun trained on the man, as they slowly walked around each other. The man was smirking.

"Get the hell out of this building," Forrest said, his voice low and quiet. "I see you up here or around this club again tonight I'll blow you away."

The man's eyes shifted to Mia. "I'll see ya around, sweetheart," he said, and then turned and disappeared down the hall.

Forrest immediately turned to Mia and grasped her by the upper arms, pulling her upright. "You all right?"

Mia nodded, struggling for every ounce of dignity that she possessed. "Fine," she replied lightly, clearing her throat. She took a deep, silent breath, willing her racing heart to calm down. She was terrified, but she'd be damned to hell for all eternity before she'd show it. "Just some joker who had too much to drink."

Forrest eyed her suspiciously. "You sure you all right?"

Mia brushed back a lock of hair. "Fine, I said. What are you doing up here, anyway?"

"Your 'brother' asked me to come and make sure no one bothered you," Forrest said wryly. "Man must have the gift of foresight, apparently."

"We don't tell him about this," Mia said pointedly, staring up into his face and finding it very strange that she was speaking so familiarly to a man she didn't know, and whose nerves she'd been doing her best to get on the entire night. "Not one word. All he'll do is blow his top and tear the city apart trying to find that lousy bastard and he'll probably get sore at you for not blowing that joe's head off when you had the chance. We don't tell him."

Either her logic sunk in, or he really didn't care either way, because all Forrest did was shrug. "Whatever you say," he muttered. "Ma'am."

Mia shot him a sharp look, and realized that her pulse had slowed down considerably. It was just some drunk bastard, she told herself. Nothing she hadn't seen before, nothing she wasn't used to. Nothing to worry about. Forrest, the sweet thing, had scared him off and she knew she wouldn't see him again tonight.

"Thank you," she said over her shoulder, walking down the hall to her dressing room around the corner. "For…helping me."

He grunted behind her. "Just doin' a favor for a friend." The sarcasm in his voice was evident.

She rounded the corner to her dressing room and pushed open the door. She glanced at him over her shoulder from under her lashes. "You'll stay out here?"

"Apparently I got to, now," he replied, his hands in his pockets. "Ain't no tellin' what might happen to a lady like you up here all by yourself."

There might have been some additional sarcasm emphasized on the word "lady", but Mia shut the door and changed out of her black gown. She pulled off her lacy knickers and pulled up her fishnets before stepping into her corset. She decided to leave her hair down and touched up her eyes and cheeks. She was going for her lipstick when it occurred to her that she really ought to thank Forrest properly. A little smile curled her lips. He had such a sour deportment, she thought. She was sure she could do something to lift his mood, at least a little.

She hugged the corset to her breasts and reached for the doorknob. She opened the door, and Forrest glanced at her, and then did a very satisfying double take before looking away. She smiled.

"Will you lace me?" she asked in a low voice, turning around and arching her back just a little to push her bottom out toward him. "I'm afraid I can't reach the laces myself."

"How'd you do it the first time?" he asked grouchily. "Do I look like a maid to you?"

"I had help." She pouted over her shoulder. "Please, won't you lace me? I simply can't do it myself."

He sighed and slowly reached for her, but she stepped farther into her dressing room. "Not in the hallway," she chastised. "In here. Shut the door."

"Think we better leave it open," he said suspiciously.

"And risk someone seeing you in here with me and it getting back to Alphie?" Mia shot back. She made her point. He shut the door and she turned around and drew a deep breath. "Nice and tight, if you please."

She felt him tugging at the laces as the corset tightened around waist. She subtly pushed her breasts up a little bit.

"There," he said. "Now, let's go." He turned for the door, but Mia topped him with a hand to the elbow. "What now?" he asked impatiently.

Mia smiled up at him. "I just wanted to say thank you," she said softly. "For helping me now. And for coming to my rescue earlier. That man…well, truthfully, I was a bit more shaken than I let on."

He nodded once. "It's no trouble," he muttered.

Mia stepped up close to him, and he didn't move a muscle when she placed her hands on his chest. She pressed up on her toes like she had earlier, and tilted her head back as she brought her face close to his.

"And I ought to thank you for the drink, too. Though it was certainly no easy feat getting it. But I suppose you're not as awful you seem," she whispered, her breath brushing his lips. His eyes were glued to her mouth. She smiled. "And neither am I."

She slipped a hand around to the back of his head and pulled herself closer. She paused for an instant, to see if he'd let her do it, and he was absolutely still, staring at her. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his and almost moaned aloud – they were just as soft as she'd suspected. He still didn't move, didn't kiss her back, almost as if he were startled by her forwardness, but she didn't mind. The feel of his lips under hers was so wonderful she felt she could stay here all night.

She kissed his bottom lip, suckling it very gently before she moved her attention to his upper lip to repeat the action. His eyes were open, watching her, and his hands were in his pockets. Mia pressed her body against his and then used the tip of her tongue to tease his upper lip before swiping it over his bottom lip and suckling at it again. She used her fingertips to press very lightly on his chin, making his mouth open just a little, and swept the tip of her tongue between his lips before pressing a kiss in the middle of them.

She bit her lip and smiled as she pulled back, her fingertips playing at the short hair at the nape of his neck. She looked up at him, and her breath caught at the way his brow was furrowed as he stared at her lips; he almost looked mad as he leaned toward her. Suddenly she felt pressure on the side of her waist as one of his hands left his pocket and settled there, and started to pull her closer.

She jumped when she heard the sound of a fist hammering on the other side of the door.

"Mia, you in there? Mia, honey, I gotta talk to you, baby. Let me in."

_Goddammit._ It was Lucky.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Greetings, honey-babies! I'm back with another chapter to finish up our flashback in Chicago. Things get a little cray-cray in this one, but after this, we're headin' to Virginia, ma'am. Let the fireworks begin. **

**A note - the song that Mia sings in this chapter was written by George Gershwin in 1924 and has been covered by a whooooooooooooooole lot of famous folk from that time forward. The version I reference here is on the Boardwalk Empire, Vol. 2 soundtrack and is sung by the lovely Margot Bingham. If you followed last season, she played Daughter Maitland on the show and wow, was she fantastic. Sadly, not more of her songs were on the soundtrack, in fact only TWO were, but this is one of them, and it's great. **

**Speaking of Boardwalk Empire - I probably should have said this early on, but my Al Capone is the Al Capone that Stephen Graham portrays. He is, hands DOWN, the best Al Capone I've ever witnessed.**

**As my friend Nik says, reviews are love, so bring it on, babydolls!**

**Chapter 5**

_Fall 1930, Chicago_

Forrest knew that going into an enclosed space that had a door with a woman who was nothing but mischief was a real bad idea. And he should have stayed his ass outside that room, minding his own damn business, and not followed her inside. And he certainly shouldn't have looked at her in her little white getup that was damn near indecent and he definitely should not have put his hands on her to lace up her stays, all while surreptitiously examining her half-exposed hind end and shapely legs.

And he damn sure shouldn't have let her kiss him.

What sort of a gal would just up and lay one on a fellow that she barely knew, had just met, anyway? Forrest tried to be disgusted, offended, tried to tell her she ought to stop that just now, when her hands went around his neck and her fingers stroked his skin softly. He tried to move away when she looked up at him with that teasing twinkle in those warm, chocolatey brown eyes, tried to turn his face when she pressed up on her toes to reach him and brought her face right next to his, pausing just a second, just a hair's breath away, so close that he could almost imagine he felt her mouth on his.

Was this her way of thanking of him for coming to her rescue just a little while earlier? Was she tying to tease and play with him the way she so clearly teased and played with those other fellows downstairs? Who did she think she was, this little woman who thought she was some kind of an empress? Who did she think she was that she could go around laying kisses on any man who might have caught her eye? Who did she think _he_ was?

And then he felt her lips brush his and he couldn't think any more.

It had been a number of years since he'd felt a woman's touch of any kind, and perhaps even longer that he'd had himself a kiss. He recalled the days before he'd fallen ill with the Spanish Lady and his entire world had changed – he'd been a normal boy, a normal young man, who expected to take over his daddy's businesses, both legal and illegal. There'd been some pretty young gals his age in town, and he'd always been popular with the girls for some reason; he'd always been a quiet tyke but the girls in town had always fancied him, thought him the most handsome boy there. He had his daddy's deep set stormy blue eyes and strong jaw, and his mama's straight nose and lush mouth. And as all the children in the town had gotten older, and boys and girls had begun to be interested in one another, it seemed every girl in town wanted to know just what those lips of his could do. He was sure that by the end of his sixteenth year he'd kissed just about every girl in town between the ages of thirteen and seventeen, some – many – more than once. And some of those kisses had led to other things, other very pleasant things that he'd had no business getting involved in but did so anyway, just the same. In fact, he'd been caught red-handed with a few of the girls on enough occasions that his daddy finally had to set him down and have a little chat about the birds and the bees and make him promise to be more responsible, elsewise he was going to allow the daddies of all the girls he'd fooled around with take a belt to him and tan his hide from here to kingdom come.

After the sickness had passed over Franklin, and Virginia as a whole, and nearly wiped out the entire state, his priorities shifted though he was but one year removed from all his previous youthful shenanigans. Life was about survival, not pleasure; it was about getting by and hopefully being comfortable one day, about establishing a legacy. Women, marriage, even children, those would all come later. Much, much later.

Since he was seventeen, he'd carried the burden of the family square upon his shoulders, though he was only the middle brother. But Howard was so rattled when he came home from the war; watching his entire battalion drown and die in the sea around him, leaving him the only survivor, had shaken him to his core in a way that he'd never spoken of to anyone. The only thing that ever knew just what demons he battled from that war was a fresh jar of corn, and despite his best efforts, no matter how many times Howard reached the bottom of a jar, he still couldn't come to a reason why he'd been spared and no one else.

So, with a young brother still growing up and finding his way to manhood, and an older brother who was, underneath his jolly exterior, really lost and confused, it was up to Forrest to lead the way, to make the path, to ensure the success and comfort of his family. And that left practically no time at all for dalliances with the fairer sex, though he seemed to garner more attention as a grown man than he had even as a pretty teenage boy. And there were certain times that a man just couldn't ignore his natural born impulses, and he'd find a willing girl at a barnyard dance or a picnic to find his release with and then go on about his business. He never treated them disrespectfully or unkindly, but it seemed he broke some hearts, anyway, because he always let them alone afterward. There was only so much of his own hand a man could take, and Forrest had never been particularly big on that, anyway.

It had been a little over a year since the last time he'd been inside a woman, and that was normal in his life; those primal urges to take and to mate happened infrequently enough these days because his mind was always on other things, like survival. And rather than find real enjoyment in the act, it was simply to meet a biological need, a means to an end. He didn't care to find out what love was; he just didn't have time for it.

And he certainly never had any time as a grown man for something as foolish a thing as kissing.

It was something he avoided, even in those rare, few-and-far-between moments of intimacy with a woman. He needed to simply find his release and go on with his life. He hadn't had a kiss that he could really recall at least since he was twenty-four, maybe even longer. And he hadn't missed it or given it a thought elsewise.

Until this moment right now.

Granted, he knew that what was happening was not a true kiss; he was standing stock-still, his mouth closed and not moving, while her mouth moved over his. But he was blown away by the sensation; he could hardly think straight, and Forrest Bondurant could always think straight. It was one of the reasons why he didn't drink – he never wanted to be caught out of his right mind.

And now, he was damned sure out of anything resembling his right mind.

He'd never felt such soft, smooth, plump little things as her lips on his, right now. All he could register was feeling; he couldn't form a coherent thought to save his goddamn life at the moment. The soft pressure, a gentle suckle that almost made him shut his eyes. And when he felt the moist, teasing little flick of her tongue against his lips, his cock immediately swelled inside his trousers, and his heart started pounding.

She was barely kissing him, just teasing with her lips and tongue; how was it possible that she could make his body react like this?

Her fingertips pressed lightly on his chin and his jaw opened in response. He felt her tongue sweep into his mouth briefly, just the tip, and then felt the warm, soft gentle pressure of her mouth against his again.

And that's when he suddenly snapped back into himself – or so he thought.

Had he truly been in his right brain, he would have pushed her away and berated her for acting like a fast, forward, easy girl, and upbraided her for treating him like a common john after he'd just gotten done saving her lousy hide. That's what a real man, an upstanding man, would have done. Especially him, Forrest Bondurant, because he didn't have time for such foolishness like kissing, especially not with such a spoiled, entitled little brat, no matter how pretty she might be.

But instead his right mind betrayed him, because all he could think of was how smooth her skin looked, how soft her hair felt tickling his face, how her breath was sweet and lips so soft, and how she smelled like some kind of flowers – some fancy expensive perfume he had no way of identifying – and suddenly, his body betrayed him, too.

It was a betrayal, because when she pulled away to gauge his reaction, he found himself frowning at the loss of feeling from her lips, found himself staring at her mouth hard, and found himself leaning toward her. At the same time, his bastard of a hand slipped from his pocket and unraveled the fist it had been making, to reach for her waist and draw her body even closer to his.

_More_, his stupid, stupid mind thought, staring hard at her parted lips just a breath away, keenly intent on helping himself to them this time around. _More._

He barely registered the sound of pounding on the door, he was focused so hard on her, but he felt her jump a little against his body, saw her shoot a furtive look toward the door, and then he heard it.

The desperate, whiny voice of a grown man begging her to open the door.

"The hell," he muttered, and realized he was holding onto her. He dropped his hand and stepped back as she reached for the doorknob, looking annoyed. He was mildly surprised; he would have expected her to attempt to try to hide, or some other womanly foolishness particular to her sex. Instead, she boldly wrenched the door open and leaned against the frame.

"Problem, Charles?" she asked coolly.

Luciano's drunken face went from having a moony, lovesick expression to one of recognition and then confusion and then anger as he noticed Forrest.

"What the hell's goin' on here?" he demanded, his bloodshot eyes shifting back and forth. "You got _him_ in your dressin' room, Mia? What the hell are you doin'?"

"Forrest was just seeing me safely to my room, and helping me with my laces," Mia replied. "What the hell are _you_ doing?"

Lucky glared. "I came up to make nice wit' ya," he said. "Last thing I expected to find was not only some other joe in your dressin' room, but _this_ hick?"

Forrest felt his blood simmer at the slight. Without even looking at him, Mia placed a gentle hand on his forearm. Strangely, the gesture calmed him slightly.

"I'd watch what you say, Charles," she said with false concern. "He's got a frightful temper, and he might get sore at you. You wouldn't like him when he's angry."

"Oh, you think this is funny, huh?" Lucky asked darkly. "Al ain't gonna like this when he hears about it."

Mia's eyes narrowed. "Oh. Are you planning to tell?"

"You're goddamn right I'm plannin' to tell," Lucky shot back. He glared at Forrest. "Guess you can take your hick brothers and your dirty moonshine back to the sticks where you came from."

Forrest was about to step forward when he felt Mia's hand on his arm again. _You got one more time to run your mouth at me,_ he thought, staring impassively back at the man.

"You're not going to tell anyone anything," Mia said smugly. "To tell on me would be to tell on yourself, and the whole reason Alphiesent Forrest after me was to make sure he kept the riff-raff out and that _nobody_ bothered me." She looked at Lucky pointedly.

He looked beside himself. "Oh. I'm _bothering_ you now?"

"Yes," Mia replied. "You're very bothersome. And Forrest here is a pal of Alphie's, and, well, I'm afraid he's not very fond of you. So why don't you go on back downstairs and have another drink, and mind your own goddamn business, and remember that the only reason why you're still breathing is because I've _chosen _to let you do so?"

Forrest wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that, and was in fact taken aback at her audacity to speak to a man like that, even if the man in question was nothing but a pansy nance. He realized he was probably going to have to severely injure Luciano because he was undoubtedly going to strike her for her absolute impertinence and disrespect.

Instead, Luciano's face turned even redder, and though he was obviously angry, there was something like defeat and acceptance of the truth in her words as he took a step back. He glared at her and nodded.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Sure. I'll go do that. And while I do I'll also be thinkin' about how much time and effort I've wasted on you." He started down the hall, then doubled back, looking at Forrest. He pointed at Mia. "Don't bother wastin' your time on her, pal. You ain't gonna get a fuckin' thing from her but blue balls. This little bitch is nothin' but a goddamn tease."

Forrest stepped around Mia. "You watch your goddamn mouth."

He had no idea why he was so mad all of a sudden, beyond the fact that Ma had always raised her boys to be respectful of women. It surely had nothing to do with the fact that he could still smell her, or that his heart was still beating hard. That was more than likely due to the fact that this glorified street thug had got his temper up. Not a thing to do with her, or that he could still feel her mouth on his.

Luciano stopped in his tracks. "You say somethin' to me, hick?" His hand flew under his jacket and he suddenly pulled out a revolver and pointed it at Forrest's face.

Forrest slipped his hand into his suit pocket to retrieve one of the items he never went anywhere without. He felt the cold, round rings of brass slip over his fingers and before the man had any idea of what was happening, he withdrew his hand, cocked back his fist, and let it fly into the center of Luciano's face.

The gun went flying as his head snapped back and the skin on the bridge of his nose split, blood pouring. Blood also trickled from his nostrils and the cut on his split upper lip. He stared at Forrest in shock and fury.

"I don't take kindly to havin' guns drawn on me," Forrest said calmly, kicking the pistol away from Luciano down the hallway. "I'm sure you understand."

"Are you out of your mind, Charlie?" Mia cried at the same time. "Are you nutty or something? Pulling a _gun?_"

"I don't like this bastard," Lucky replied, holding his nose and pointing a shaking finger at Forrest.

"Well, I don't like _you!_" Mia exclaimed childishly. "Now, get out of my sight, and if you say one word about this to Alphie I'm going to call you a low-down, lousy, lying bastard in front of everyone! Who do you think he'll believe?"

"This ain't over," Lucky said to Forrest angrily, mopping blood off his face. "Not by a long shot. I'm gonna find you and gut you like a fuckin' pig. Cut your balls off and shove 'em up your ass."

"You are more than welcome to try," Forrest said calmly. "And I'd like to remind you that even if you did succeed at that particular endeavor, I've got two brothers and two brand new business partners downstairs that you're gonna have to deal with. I'm quite certain you don't want that fight." He flexed his fingers inside the brass rings. "But if you insist."

"Stop it," Mia said sharply, and stepped in front of Forrest. "Charlie, honey, this is a fight that you don't want, I assure you. It's not going to go in your favor. So why don't you go clean yourself up, go sit yourself down somewhere and have a drink and mind your own goddamn business, huh?"

He glared at her. "Don't you think you can come crawlin' back to me when he figures out you're nothin' but a fuckin' tease. You're probably a lousy lay, anyway, you little brat."

Forrest watched him limp off down the hallway, wanting to go after him and beat his face to a pulp. He looked down at Mia.

"You let him talk to you like that?" he asked. "You let him treat you like that?"

Mia looked up at him impatiently. "Does it seem like I 'let him' do _anything?_" she countered. "Why the hell else would he be so sore at me? It's because he hasn't ever gotten a goddamn thing from me." She scoffed. "I need to put my shoes on and we need to go downstairs. Alphie will be impatient."

Forrest wanted to ask her about the kiss, but he didn't know how. Apparently it seemed she'd forgotten it with all the excitement.

_Wasn't nothin', _he thought to himself. _Wasn't nothin' a'tall. She probably does this with lots of fellows. _

The thought made him feel something he didn't like; he didn't want to call it jealousy. That would just be foolish; why should he be jealous of anything? There was nothing here to be jealous of. Mia wasn't his, he damn sure didn't belong to her or anybody else, and she had just been toying with him.

And he figured she was probably right about Luciano. He _was _clearly sore and full of hurt pride; it was obvious that he'd tried on numerous occasions to bed the girl and she had refused. But she must have kept him dangling at least a little bit, since he kept coming back.

He didn't want to think about Luciano getting to experience those plump magic lips of hers, too.

* * *

Mia ushered Forrest back to the main area of the club before she stepped back on stage to a wild round of applause and whooping cheers and a few catcalls, even. She smiled at the audience and waved, her eyes casually wandering over the crowd of special guests near the front. She saw Alphie and Lucky talking – Al was undoubtedly asking him about his face, because Lucky looked positively awful. She narrowed her eyes, willing Lucky to look at her, though he did not. _He'd better not say a damn thing,_ she thought fiercely, then relaxed when she saw Al tilt his head back and laugh. Lucky must have pitched him some fib – maybe that he fell down the stairs, or that one of Al's broads hadn't taken too kindly to one of Lucky's requests. She knew that if Lucky had told Al what had really happened, that a mask of fury would be on Al's face, and he'd be attacking Forrest and then bellowing at Mia.

_Good boy. _

She smirked, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure that the band was taking their places behind her. She locked eyes with her pianist and he nodded slightly to her before silently counting off for the band. The piano, trumpet and drums all began the sad opening strains of one of Al's favorite songs – "Somebody Loves Me."

Mia turned back to the crowd, a practiced smile spreading over her face. She enjoyed the song as well, for all she didn't want to sing another one tonight. She placed her hands on her hips and sashayed to the corner of the stage nearest to where Al and his friends sat. She glanced at Forrest, who was studying her with the same intensity he had been the last time she'd been up here. She felt her smile turn slightly predatory, remembering his reaction to her little kiss, and she began to sing.

_"__When this world began, it was Heaven's plan,_

_There should be a girl for every single man._

_To my great regret, someone has upset_

_Heaven's pretty program, for we've never met._

_I'm clutching at straws just because, I may meet him yet._

_Somebody loves me, I wonder who? I wonder who he can be._

_Somebody loves me, I wish I knew. Who can he be, worries me._

_For every boy who passes me I shout, 'Hey, maybe!_

_You were meant to be my loving baby.'_

_Somebody loves me, I wonder who? Maybe it's you."_

She pointed right at Forrest, and winked, and then as the melody picked up to a lively tempo she twirled around and began a little Charleston step. She knew she looked beautiful on the stage, her long hair free and glossy, her corset twinkling and glowing beautifully under the lights. Her smile turned easy; she did love to perform, to sing and to dance for people, and they, in turn, loved her back.

She scanned the audience as she danced, seeing expressions of pleasure and enjoyment on their face. She saw hands clapping and feet tapping to the beat of the music. All eyes were on her, and she was the reason for the smiles on their faces.

She glanced back over at the group near the stage. All of the goons, the button men, were practically drooling. Even Meyer Lansky seemed riveted, even though his contempt for her – and hers for him – was palpable. Al was smiling in a fond, parental sort of way. Lucky was trying to frown at her, but even he couldn't seem to resist her stage presence and charm. The young boy, Jack, was grinning from ear to ear, tapping his foot jauntily, and Howard was smirking at her over the rim of a glass of whiskey.

She caught Forrest's eye again from where he was standing with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He wasn't smiling or moving, but he was watching her. He was watching her very, very closely.

Triumph surged through her. _I've won._

She danced back toward the front of the stage, opening her mouth to sing another chorus of the song – and then all hell broke loose.

She'd been exposed to enough dealings of the sort that Al took part in to be able to recognize the unmistakable sound of a Thompson sub-machine gun going off. In fact, that particular noise wasn't uncommon in this part of Chicago, around the nightclubs and speakeasies. Chicago was gangster territory and the only reason the cops were able to give the citizens some semblance of law and order was because the mafiosos _allowed _them to. She'd heard her first tommy gun in 'twenty-three at the age of sixteen, and she'd heard it many, many times since then. Sometimes, she'd be asleep in her apartment late at night and hear it from down the street, usually outside the Cotton or the Apex, and she'd think, "Glad it's not aimed at me." The distant _rat-tat-tat _didn't scare her anymore; she just always wondered which poor bastard's face she'd see splashed across the morning paper as she drank her coffee and ate her breakfast, reading about how some goon had gotten done for crossing the wrong mobster. It had become an almost natural part of life to her, and when she heard it from afar, she took comfort in knowing that she wasn't in any danger.

But when that familiar sound pierced the air tonight, so very loudly, and when it was coupled with the sound of continuously shattering glass, too close for comfort, and the sounds of terrified female screams, ringing in her ears, it became clear that as of right now, she was very much in danger.

Time suddenly slowed down, the music ground to a halt, and the loud noises echoed hollowly and distantly in her ears as her eyes shifted sluggishly toward the entrance to the club. There were little crystal-like sparkles everywhere in the air, bursting out from the entrance. She realized dimly that it was the windows and the doors being shot out.

Her eyes shifted again, so slowly, and she saw bottles on the bar bursting apart, liquor flying everywhere. She saw the bartender doing a strange dance – his arms were stretched out to the sides and he kept jerking, over and over and over, until he finally stumbled back and crumpled to the floor. Only then did she register the big red spots all over his white shirt.

She blinked with what felt like the speed of a snail and looked to the front again. She saw people falling, from bullets and all over themselves as they tried to run for cover, or toward the back of the club where there was a kitchen entrance. _Why are they moving so slowly?_ she wondered with another slow blink. _They'll get hit if they don't move faster._

"_Mia!"_

The voice echoed in her ears from far away. _Where's that coming from? Who's calling for me?_

Around her, she felt the slow rush of bodies moving as her band scampered off the stage, frantic with fear. She stumbled a little from the force of their movements, and then she realized she was all alone. Another burst of automatic fire peppered the entrance, and now that the doors and the windows were gone, she actually felt bullets whizzing by her head.

_I need to move._

But for some reason, she couldn't. Her feet felt like lead in her silver platform peep-toe sandals; her legs felt like they were immobile poles attached to her body. Her arms felt boneless.

"_Mia!"_

She looked around dazedly again. There – it was Alphie. He had a look of absolute panic on his face, and he had blood all over the white shirt of his nice new suit. His mouth was open wide, screaming for her, but suddenly she couldn't hear a thing.

Then Al went down.

Her mouth opened to scream back, but no sound came out. _He's dead, he's shot, the bastards got him, they got him, now there's no one, oh, Al –_

A dark shadow swept over him, blocking out his face, and then she could see him again. Someone was on top of him – someone in a suit.

It was Forrest Bondurant.

He pressed Al to the floor, gripping his arms and looking all around, from side to side. Though he was moving fast, his face was still strangely calm and focused. Then she saw his alert, intense gaze sweep back toward her, and then he was moving toward her, fast and low, like a lion.

She peered over the edge of the stage, her legs still unable to move. She couldn't even duck when another hail of bullets tore through the room. Not even when she saw the bodies that had fallen shake and dance like the bartender.

_But they're already dead,_ she thought, dully curious. _Why shoot them when they're already dead?_

Suddenly, her rear end met the stage floor hard, jarring her spine all the way up to the top of her head. She gritted her teeth on reflex and against the pain, and it was like she'd been shaken back to alertness, back to herself. Swiftly, the sounds grew louder, her vision grew sharper, and everything sped up to real time.

She gasped as she was suddenly yanked forward with enough force that the top half of her body flew back, the back of her head cracking painfully against the stage floor. Something had a hold of her ankles and was pulling, and Mia realized she'd better start fighting.

She started kicking her legs, screaming. "Don't touch me! No! Stop it!"

"Hush your mouth, now," a gruff voice said, and her body was yanked all the way off the stage. But it wasn't the Chicago-accented voice of a local mobster, and it wasn't the Brooklynese of Al or Ralph, but the low, rich voice that came from the southern part of the country, accompanied by a whiff of cigar tobacco.

Forrest pulled her to the floor, holding her wrists in one hand so she wouldn't beat him in her panicked state, and one hand was wound around her waist, holding her tight to him. He somehow managed to crawl along the floor, slithering with her like a snake, to take shelter behind an overturned table. They were wedged between the corner of the stage and the wall, and he shoved her back before pulling the table after him, effectively enclosing them in a little space.

He rolled his body over hers so he could keep her flat and still stay up and vigilant. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, terror coursing through her body. _I could have been killed. I could have been killed._

"Why'd you just keep on standin' up there?" he asked quietly, irritation in his voice. "Like a damn deer in the headlights. You coulda been plugged full o' holes, you know that?"

She tried to open her mouth, to snap back at him, but all she could do was begin to weep helplessly with fright.

Forrest looked down at her with something like pity on his face, before looking up to peer through the crack where the table didn't quite meet the corner of the stage. "There, there. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to you. Guess you ain't so tough after all."

Rage filled her, quickly ebbing her tears. Goddammit, she _was _tough. She'd been born in Sicily, the birthplace of the mafia, raised in New York, brought to Chicago and now lived among and tantalized some of the toughest, most dangerous men in the country. Her brother had been a cold-blooded killer, Alphie's right-hand man behind his body guard, and Mia Angela Scalise wasn't fazed by anything. She'd seen men fight and get shot in the street like dogs. She'd seen whores at work, overheard Al plotting hits, and never batted an eye when she'd seen the end result of torture at the hands of Al Capone.

Forrest was looking down at her again, and this time he looked amused. "'Parently, based on that bull-headed and belligerent look on your face, I assume you didn't take none too kindly to my comment, did you?"

_Bull-headed?_ she thought, furious.

"Good," he went on softly. "You're a spirited girl. Can't nothin' faze you, not even this. Just lie still, be silent, let me take care of you, and we'll all go home in one piece."

And then he reached down and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

If he'd slapped her, Mia couldn't have been more shocked than she was right now at the almost tender gesture. She felt the abilities of speech leaving her again as she stared up at him. He looked back down at her, his face impassive, but his eyes full of something she couldn't read. As it had on stage when the shooting began, the world started to recede again, slowing down, fading away. All of it could have gone straight to hell, as far as she was concerned – everything she needed was right there in his eyes, looming above her face. _Stormy blue-gray_, she decided finally, staring deep into them. Yes. They were a stormy shade of pewter, hard to decipher, but she was close enough to see them clearly now.

"Gonna have you wedge yourself beneath the stage," he said quietly. "Just to hide until this thing is over."

"No," she replied, and her hands reached up to grasp the lapel of his jacket. "No. Don't make me move away from you. I want to stay right here. I – I feel safe."

He blinked in surprise. "Well, all right," he said slowly. "Just stay put. I need to see what's –"

At that moment, the sound of a souped-up Model A roaring through the remnants of the entrance of the Cotton Club met their ears and they locked gazes again. The car drove right through the lounge area, knocking over tables and chairs, running over bodies on the floor. It was so loud. Mia felt her eyes widen with fear and she tried to sit up, to scramble away somewhere, anywhere, but Forrest held her down.

"Don't move!" he hissed harshly at her. "They see us, we're dead."

Something came sliding across the floor underneath the stage; it hit Mia in the side and she nearly screamed. She frantically twisted beneath him and saw sleek black metal, and blinked.

Someone had thrown a tommy gun at them.

She poked Forrest in the side and pointed at the gun, and he reached down and snatched it. He held it in a practiced way and rose to one knee, still crouched behind the table. Mia heard car doors open, and at that moment, Forrest popped up, aimed the gun, and held the trigger down.

She heard muted yelps and shouts from the men, heard the engine rumble to life again and car doors slam shut, heard bullets pierce through glass and metal, and then the car backed out quickly and drove off with a squeal of tires.

Then, all was silent.

Mia's heart felt like it was ready to explode. She tried to sit up, but Forrest placed a hand on her chest and held her down. He looked down at her and shook his head. She lay still, except for her chest which was heaving with near-panic, staring up at him. He carefully peered around the edge of the table, taking his time to make sure that the threat was gone. Finally, he looked down at her, and nodded.

He pulled his hand away and she sat up slowly, bits of broken glass falling out of her hair. She pulled her knees to the side and sat, shaking. She hadn't realized she was staring off into space until she felt the large, warm palm of his hand cup her cheek lightly, and she looked at him.

His face was close to hers, a little crease between his brows. "You all right there?"

She leaned her cheek into his palm. "Yes."

He nodded and slowly rose to his feet, keeping a hand on her shoulder to keep her on the floor while he held the gun, sweeping it across the room. "All clear. Whoever's there."

He held out a hand to help Mia to her feet, and she rose on trembling legs. It was all she could do to keep her knees from knocking together, and as if he could sense her instability, he slipped an arm around her waist to support her.

He used his foot to kick the table out of the way. "Mr. Capone?"

Mia's head swiveled frantically, trying to find Alphie. _Maybe he got hit when Forrest left his side,_ she thought wildly. _Maybe he's_ –

"Yeah. Here."

A moment later, Al was getting to his feet from where he'd been lying on the floor across the room, also beneath a table. His face flooded with relief at the sight of her. "Kid, you okay?"

She nodded quickly. "I'm okay."

"Howard," Forrest called, louder. "Jack."

"Yeah."

As if he hadn't been at all fazed, Howard appeared from behind the bar at the back of the room. He was, incredulously, still holding a drink. The rim of the glass was broken off in a large chunk on one side, and he casually drank from the other.

The baby-faced boy, Jack, stood up from the other side of the stage. Forrest nodded at him, and Mia realized he had to have been the one who threw them the gun.

"Where'd you find it?" Forrest asked, hefting it.

Jack cleared his throat. He didn't look nearly as collected as Howard, but he was nowhere near the panicky state that Mia felt like she was in.

"One of your men, Mr. Capone. He got hit with a bullet, dropped his gun. 'Fraid to say he didn't make it. But seemed like we coulda use his weapon more'n he could."

Al looked at Forrest, his face white. "Forrest, I don't know how to thank you. You saved my life. You saved Mia's life."

Forrest grunted, and set the gun down on the table. "Wouldn't worry so much about thankin' me, Mr. Capone. Seems you got bigger problems on your hands. You wanna tell me why someone would come shoot up your place the night me and my brothers are in town?"

Mia looked up at him and she saw his face was hard, eyes narrowed. _He thinks Al did this,_ she realized in surprise. "No," she found herself saying out loud, drawing every eye in the room. Ralph appeared then from where he'd been in the back; he hadn't been out front while she'd been singing.

"No, what?" Forrest asked her evenly.

"No to whatever it is that you're thinking," Mia insisted.

"Mia, this is men's business," Al said, a note of warning in his voice.

"Alphie, he thinks _you_ did this," Mia said sharply. "And I'm trying to tell him that's not the case. Is it?"

"Hell, no," Al growled. He made his way across the room, wincing at the bodies strewn around the floor. "Why the fuck should I slaughter my people? Why the fuck would I wanna kill _you_? I got nothin' against youse. We're doin' business together."

"Forrest, there's no way," Howard said reasonably.

"Where's your man Luciano?" Forrest asked Al, a little challengingly. "Me and him, we got into a little scrap tonight. Maybe he was in his feelings about that still."

_Oh, damn him._ Mia clapped a hand to her forehead.

"What?" Al asked in surprise. "You what? He said one o' my dames worked his face over with a champagne bottle 'cause he was gettin' too handsy. You tellin' me it was you two fightin' each other?"

"Man pulled a gun on me," Forrest replied. "I don't appreciate that none, bein' a guest and all."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Al's confused gaze shifted to Mia and turned suspicious. "Mia…"

"Why must it always be my fault?" she exclaimed.

"Well, ain't it?"

She sighed impatiently. "He'd seen that Mr. Bondurant here escorted me safely to my dressing room, per _your_ request, and he didn't like it. He turned jealous and he was already drunk, so he pulled a gun on Forrest. And Forrest decked him."

"Mr. Capone?" Jack spoke up, walking gingerly to his side. "I seen Mr. Luciano run out back when the shootin' first started. He about knocked me over in his haste to get outside. While he certainly warn't too concerned with the state of his pals I don't think he had nothin' to do with this."

"I got plenty of enemies in this city," Al announced, spreading his hands apart. "Hell, in this state. There's guys in parts of the country I ain't ever even been to who got a bounty on my head. It coulda been any number o' them. Coulda been Lucky's boss, Masseria. He don't like me too well."

"Mr. Masseria may not care for your Outfit," Meyer Lansky spoke up, "but I assure you, he's not behind this."

"Oh, and how would you know, Meyer?" Mia snapped. "Because you brush each other's hair every night and tell each other all your secrets and gossip before cuddling up for bedtime?"

Meyer looked absolutely furious and opened his mouth to speak, but Al held up a hand to silence him, then pointed a finger at Mia. "You shut up," he said to her firmly. "And, Lansky, I know she can be a mouthy little bitch, but whatever you was thinkin' o' sayin' to her, let's not forget I'm standin' right here, huh?"

"There was another fellow," Forrest spoke up, completely ignoring the outburst. He glanced at Mia. "When I made my way upstairs, there was another fellow up there giving Miss Scalise here a hard time."

"What?" Al demanded, looking at her sharply.

Mia looked at him sheepishly. "Just some creep," she said with an indifferent shrug. "Just got done getting his jollies with one of your broads upstairs. Guess he hadn't had enough and decided to try me. Forrest scared him off."

"Twice in one fuckin' night," Al said, his voice hard. "If trouble don't follow you everywhere, I swear. Who was this guy?"

"Didn't give no name," Forrest said. "Odd lookin' fellow. Black hair parted right down the middle, dressed fancy. Wore gloves. Talked like he was from around here."

"What'd he say?" Al looked at Mia.

"Just some garbage about wanting to take me to a room so that I could answer all his questions," Mia said. "That's when Forrest showed up."

"He touch you?" Al waited for a reply, then frowned harder when she didn't answer right away. "You heard me, kid."

"Had his hands over her mouth when I come up there," Forrest answered for her. "He let go pretty quick when he realized he was starin' down the barrel of a snub-nosed revolver."

"And then?"

"Then he just left," Forrest replied, folding his arms. "Told him if I saw him 'round here again tonight I'd blow his fuckin' head off."

Al nodded in approval. "Wonder who that bastard was. Never saw him but he smells."

Forrest shrugged. "He seemed a little indifferent given the fact that I was ready to splatter his brains all over the wall. Could very well have had to do with his. Not that I ain't convinced your friend Luciano didn't have somethin' to do with it."

"I'll worry about Luciano," Al replied sharply. "For now – Ralph, give Ernie over at the precinct a call. Tell him to get a few of his guys that are on our payroll over here. We don't need this goddamn publicity, so we gotta use people we can trust. And get the cash ready for them." Ralph nodded, then disappeared to the back. "And tell 'em to hurry!" Al bellowed over his shoulder. "There's gonna be cops crawlin' all over the place any minute. I can hear the fuckin' sirens already."

He glanced at Forrest, then at Jack and Howard. "You guys better get on outta here. No sense in gettin' caught up in any of this. Gonna be a long night for us, but youse guys get back to the hotel. I'll be over to see youse in the mornin' wit' your money." He looked directly at Forrest. "Unless these, eh, unfortunate events have changed your mind about doin' business." He extended a hand.

Mia understood what he was really asking: _You still think it was me?_

Forrest glanced at his brothers, then back at Al. Finally, he reached for Al's hand and gave it a shake. "We'll continue with business as we agreed."

Al looked relieved. "Glad to hear it. Your train leaves at ten tomorrow? Don't leave wit'out talkin' to me first."

"We'll wait," Forrest replied.

"That'll be fine. Now, get outta here."

Forrest started to follow his brothers toward the back, to slip out the kitchen entrance, but he turned and glanced at Mia. She'd been standing still, listening to them talk, hugging herself and shaking, trying to figure out if she was cold or terrified or both.

Slowly, he slid his jacket off his shoulders and handed it to her without a word. She looked at him and the jacket in surprise, and then reached out for it hesitantly.

"Be wantin' that back," he told her, glancing at her briefly, then turned and followed his brothers out.

"Nice gesture," Al commented, glancing at her with more suspicion. "Guy don't strike me as the chivalrous type."

Mia said nothing and draped the large jacket around her shoulders, enfolding herself in it and brining her nose to his lapel. She took a deep breath, and felt a measure of calm return.

_He saved your life_, she thought, and looked around at all the carnage and destruction. _This could have been you, but he saved your life._

Curiously, it was not this thought that had her stomach going cold and shaky, and her heart rate speeding up, but it was remembering the way he'd stared down at her, his body warm on top of hers and making her forget the world in the middle of utter chaos.

* * *

Mr. Capone met them outside their hotel the next morning, before they climbed into the limousine that was ready and waiting to take them to the train station. He was holding a briefcase and there were dark circles under his eyes. Forrest realized he must not have been kidding when he'd said they were in for a long night.

"Everything go all right?" Forrest asked, unsure why he felt compelled to check.

Al nodded and waved a hand dismissively. "Got some cops on my payroll. Got the place cleaned up and the report filed. Things should settle down in a few weeks while we make the repairs. Nothin' else strange happened last night." He extended the briefcase. "Sixty thousand, as discussed. You can count it if you want."

Forrest handed the suitcase back to Howard with a nod. "Just verifyin'. If you don't mind."

"Not at all." Al stuck his hands in his pockets. "All things considered, I hope you had a good time. I appreciate you boys comin' up. Guess you got a little taste of mob life there, huh, Jackie?"

"Sure did, Mr. Capone," Jack said eagerly, with a big smile. "Ain't ever seen nothin' that excitin' before in my whole life!"

"Well, it's excitin' now," Al said, a little somberly. "Only because we're still alive."

Forrest glanced over Al's shoulder inside the town car that he'd arrived in, his brother Ralph driving. Mia was in the backseat, dressed in a black hat and coat. She was looking down at her lap, and almost like she felt him watching her, she glanced over at him quickly. He held her gaze for a moment until she dropped it back down to her lap.

"We're good," Howard said quietly from behind him, and Forrest nodded as his brother closed up the suitcase. He looked back at Capone.

"I'm sure we'll speak again," he said quietly. "In the meantime – keep your head down."

Al snorted softly with laughter and eyed him. "I like you," he said. "Not just because you saved my life – that makes me indebted to you and owe you one hell of a favor one day. But – I like you. You're a cool one." He glanced at his watch. "Well, you three better get goin' or you'll miss the train. I'll be in touch to secure the date for the load."

Forrest nodded, and shook the hand that Al offered each of them. He turned to go, hearing Al's car door open, and then heard his name being called.

"Forrest, wait."

He turned, and Al walked over, something bundled in his hand. He held it out, and Forrest realized it was his suit jacket. Al jerked his head toward the car. "She said to give this back to you. And she said to say thanks."

Forrest looked over Al's shoulder again; he locked eyes with Mia, and this time she held his gaze for a while. She gave him the tiniest of smiles, then looked away.

He cleared his throat, taking the jacket. "Um. My pleasure."

Al nodded. "Thanks for takin' care o' her," he added. "I don't know what I woulda done if she'd been hurt. But she wasn't – thanks to you. Consider that another favor I owe ya." He clasped Forrest's shoulder lightly, normally something that Forrest never would have let slide, but he only nodded now. Al tipped his hat and then climbed into the car.

Forrest stood outside the limousine, watching, and suddenly, Mia turned in her seat to look back at him. She waved, and Forrest reached up to tap the brim of his hat. He waited until the car was out of sight, then climbed back in. Howard gave him a little shit-eating smirk.

"You fall in love there, Brother Forrest?" he asked. "Shit, Jack, I think he's blushin'."

Forrest gave him a withering stare. "How 'bout you two jackasses shut the hell up 'fore you make us miss the train. Now get goin'."

He decided to ignore the fact that he could smell her sweetness on the jacket, and that he suddenly couldn't stop thinking about how she felt in his arms, against him, underneath him. The way her lips tasted, and how her eyes had looked staring up at him last night from the floor. Trusting.

None of it mattered; he'd never see her again.

"Let's go home," he said abruptly.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Muse is off and running with this one. So, I know I need to go back to FtA, not to mention my other two sad neglected stories. And I will! I just had to get Mia to VA first. And now...she's here. :-)**

**Thanks for reading, my darlings. Please review too, it really makes me happy.**

**Chapter 6**

_Spring 1931, Virginia_

Mia sighed to herself and turned away from where she'd been staring out the window as the train hissed and lurched to a stop. She was finally here; finally in Virginia. And she was not at all happy about it.

It had taken all day and night to get here, what with waiting between trains and the sheer length of the journey. Luckily Al had either been thoughtful enough or prepared against her certain nagging enough to spring for the luxury first-class ticket, so she had her own compartment, ate her meals in private, slept on a bed. She could have gone to the dining car to mingle one last time with high-society folk, but she didn't care to interact with anyone. All she'd done was lie on her bunk, flip through _Godey's Lady's Book_ and remember.

Up until now, she hadn't thought much about last fall. More accurately, she hadn't allowed herself think much about it. Perhaps she'd carried some foolish girlish notion that Forrest would be thinking of her, would call her up, come visit again, send her letters and flowers. When a month had passed and she hadn't heard so much as a peep from Virginia, she'd moved on.

It had taken practically no effort at all to be friends with Lucky again. He seemed to be in Chicago more frequently nowadays, so it had been too easy to find herself in his company. At first he'd tried to ignore her, but she'd made sure to wear her prettiest dress and spritz on some of that lovely French perfume Alphie had gotten her, and with a little eyelash-batting he was putty in her hands again. She'd only kissed him a few times since then, but he was back where he belonged – willing to do anything for her, bring her delightful little presents each time he visited, and call her up from time to time and pay attention to her.

Like a man who was interested in a woman _ought _to do.

She wasn't really shaken from the shootout longer than a day or two. She tended to bounce back fairly quickly from things like that, although it had meant that she hadn't been able to perform at the Cotton Club for almost a month. She'd had to go to the Green Mill instead, and she didn't particularly care for the Green Mill, even though they'd done their best to please her with the fresh flowers in her dressing room each night, along with her very own bottle of champagne chilling on ice.

She'd moved on with her life, forcing herself to forget all about Forrest Bondurant, going back to being gay and lively and revered and pampered, the way life had been for years, and the way it should always have been.

And then, things had started getting hot with the federal agents and Alphie, and he'd sent her away.

The day he'd told her he was sending her to Virginia, she'd assumed it was his bad idea of a joke. When she discovered he was dead serious, she was certain her heart stopped beating for several moments. Then she'd pulled out her old bravado and laughed it off, asking why the hell he should send her to the sticks? Chicago was much more fun, and so what if the heat was coming down? It made things more interesting.

"I ain't playin' around, kid," Al had said earnestly. "It ain't safe for you, and it damn sure ain't safe for me. You gotta go. They'll look after ya. Just for a month or two." Despite her protests, he'd made her pack her suitcases, and off she went.

To Virginia. Where she was now. In _Virginia_. She couldn't even pick Virginia out on a map.

There was a knock on her cabin door. "Ma'am, may I assist you off the train?"

Mia quickly slid her heels on and reached for the door, sliding it open. "Yes. Thank you."

The train attendant picked up a suitcase in each gloved hand and waited while she gathered her black clutch purse and hat. It already felt warm here; she could feel the way the cabin suddenly grew humid, and she was grateful she'd decided to dress for her destination rather than her departure point. She had on a light, fluttery dress made of buttery golden yellow silk, spotted with red roses and trimmed with black. It had charming flouncy sleeves that draped to just above her elbows, and the neckline was low and tied in a bow. A narrow black belt was cinched around her waist and she had black suede gloves pulled to her elbows, a matching floppy black hat with an ivory ribbon, and black heels. As she followed the attendant through the train, she lifted her chin; heads turned to follow her, and she bet they were all wondering what a girl like her, dressed to the nines in the latest fashions, was doing in a sleepy, boring little town like this.

She wondered what they would say if she told them the truth. "_What am I doing here, you say? Oh, just laying low so that the mobsters who oppose a close pal of mine won't get me. And that said pal, the notorious Al Capone, doesn't have to worry about me while he goes to federal prison for tax evasion because the prohis can't get him on murder, bootlegging and running a prostitution racket."_

She tittered to herself.

The attendant set her suitcases down on the platform and then reached up to help her down. She straightened her skirt, immediately feeling her skin flush from the heat, and looked around.

There was no one.

The attendant cleared his throat. "Do you have someone coming, ma'am?"

"Miss," she corrected absently as she looked around. "And, yes. Or rather, I thought I did."

"There's a bench just there," the attendant replied, gesturing to a sad wooden thing that might have been considered new forty years ago. "If you'll follow me, you can have a seat while I make some phone calls for you?"

"Carry my suitcases over there," she ordered him, "and then you may leave. I'll wait."

The attendant looked aghast. "Are you certain, ma'am? Franklin is a small town, but it's known for its bootleggers. There are some unsavory folks here."

_And I'm sure I'm about to move in with the unsavoriest,_ she thought dryly. She frowned at him, slapping a bill into his hand. "It's _Miss._ And yes. I'm certain."

She waited until he'd set her suitcases down by the bench before departing back to the train, and Mia sighed deeply and took a seat on the bench. She pulled off one glove to check the time. Just after five o'clock in the evening. Someone should have been here. She used her glove to fan herself, then pulled off the other one. A few moments later, she pulled off her hat and wished desperately for a little privacy so she could remove her stockings, too. The bench seemed to be situated right under the sun and it was very warm.

As she was contemplating walking over to the little attendant kiosk to ask directions to the nearest telephone so she could call Al and shout into his ear, the sound of an engine, growling and farting and chugging, met her ears and she looked up.

A battered old Model T pulled to a stop on the road, and a moment later, a young man appeared around the front, walking toward her. His hat was in his hand and he had a big smile on his face, and Mia suddenly felt a flood of relief wash through her. She'd recognize that baby face and that smile anywhere.

She got to her feet as Jack hurried toward her. "Jack Bondurant. As I live and breathe."

"Miss Scalise," he said eagerly, carefully taking her hand and giving it a gentle shake. "I'm mighty pleased to see you. I hope I didn't keep you waitin' too long. I lost track of time at the station."

Mia eyed him. He certainly looked nothing like the dashing young man in a suit that she'd met just a few months ago. Instead of a perfectly tailored suit he wore brown pants, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows and a pair of suspenders. His brown hair was still slicked back, and he looked sweaty, like he'd been working outside.

"You sure do look lovely," Jack went on. "I hope you've got some things packed that aren't so fancy as that."

"What do you mean?" Mia asked, genuinely confused. The dress might be the latest fashion, but it was still just a daytime dress. "It's a casual dress."

"Casual," Jack repeated. "Well, I just mean, I don't see many ladies in town with such nice fabrics and things. And it's right dusty around here, too. I'd hate for you to ruin your nice things."

Mia stared back, at a loss for words, and then just shrugged. "Shall we?"

Jack immediately picked up her suitcases. "Right this way, Miss Mia. If that's all right that I call you that, I mean."

"Well, sure," Mia replied. "If I can call you – Jackie."

She was just teasing, but he seemed to consider her words carefully. "Well – I reckon that'd be all right. As long as you don't let my brothers or Cricket hear you call me that."

"I'll call you that whenever I please, in front of whomever I please," Mia shot back. "And who the devil is _Cricket_?"

Jack smiled. "He's m'best friend. He's a gimp, but he gets around pretty good just the same. Don't got much physical strength but he's one of the smartest sumbit— er, excuse me, Miss Mia. He's one of the smartest people I know, that boy is."

Jack hefted her suitcases into the back of the truck, and Mia eyed the canvas tarps that were covering what sounded like crates full of liquor to her practiced ear, rattling as he set her suitcases down. He opened the door to the cab for her, and then helped her up.

"And, this Cricket," she said slowly, gathering her dress so it wouldn't get caught in the door when he shut it for her. Jack hurried around to the driver's side and glanced at her, waiting for her to continue. "He lives at the station? Does he work with you and your brothers in your…business?"

"Cricket lives with his granny, but not too far away," Jack replied, starting the engine. "She ain't right in the head, you see, so he basically takes care of her himself. Which can be hard sometimes, with him bein' a gimp and all. And, well, he don't really do much in the way of my brothers' business but he helps out around the station. He fixes things. He's real smart, like I mentioned before."

Mia listened, fascinated. Everything from the content of what he said to the names of people he knew to his accent was queer and new to her, but it was fascinating nonetheless. "You said, 'my brothers' business'. Isn't it your business as well?"

Jack blushed a little. "Well, I suppose it is. I just – well, Miss Mia, I'm only twenty years old, and I'm still learnin' things. So I don't get to do much in the way of makin' decisions or nothin'. My brother Forrest is pretty particular about all that. I do – I suppose I do my fair share of drivin' on deliveries, and things like that." He stared out the windshield, chewing his lip.

"Well," Mia said, trying to offer some encouragement. "The delivery driver is very important. How would the deliveries get there, if not for the driver? And the getaway driver is important too. I'm sure Alphie would agree with me."

Jack beamed again. "Well, I sure do appreciate your words, Miss Mia. And how is Mr. Capone these days?"

"Distracted," Mia replied. "As I'm sure you can imagine."

"I'm sure I can. Those are some pretty big charges he's facin'. Hope his spirit is up, nonetheless."

"He likes to act like it is," Mia said. "But he assures me if he sees any prison time it'll be over before I can blink."

"I sure hope so," Jack said. "Mr. Capone – well, he was right hospitable to us when we visited last year, and he seems like a good enough fella, despite what he done in the name of business. He always was my favorite gangster, if it don't put you out none that I say so."

Mia smirked. "Why should it? He should be everyone's favorite gangster."

"I like Mad Dog Floyd Banner, too," Jack said enthusiastically. "He's been seen in and out of Virginia a lot lately. Say he's lookin' to get on the same bandwagon Mr. Capone is on. It's real expensive to ship liquor out of Florida 'cause everybody in the big cities does. They say the gangsters in New Jersey and New York got the hold on the bootleggers in Florida so some folks are lookin' more at us." He glanced over at her. "You ever taste moonshine, Miss Mia?"

A few moments later, Jack pulled the truck over on the side of the road. He helped Mia down and led her around to the back of the truck, unlatching the tailgate and pulling it down. He tossed back one of the tarps and pulled a wooden crate toward him. _Just as I suspected,_ Mia thought smugly.

Jack used his pocketknife to wedge open one side of the crate and then withdrew a clear glass Mason jar, filled with a clear liquid that was just faintly tinged yellow. He twisted off the lid and handed it over with a smile.

Mia was no stranger to liquor, favoring a nice glass of bubbly or a New York Sour, so she shrugged and grabbed the jar, bringing it to her lips.

"Ah-ah," Jack said, holding up a finger with a grin. "Now, hold on there, Miss Mia. Don't rush into that. Let me advise you to take a couple deep breaths and maybe grab the side of that there truck bed to brace yourself."

"Is it really so potent?" Mia asked skeptically.

Jack smiled. "It is. Take a good whiff."

Mia dipped her nose into the wide mouth of the jar and took a big sniff. Immediately her eyes began to water and she jerked her head back, blinking at him. "Oh."

He started to laugh. "That's why I said that maybe you wanna get you a good grip on the truck there and take some deep breaths first. This ain't the champagne a fancy gal like you drinks, beggin' your pardon."

Mia drew in a breath through her nose and looked at him, then slowly brought the jar to her lips. She tipped it slightly and watched as the liquid rushed to meet her mouth. She allowed in a small sip, and it landed on her tongue with an incredibly sharp, strong flavor. She swallowed hastily, and immediately her mouth and throat felt like they were on fire. She sputtered and coughed and hacked, and felt Jack take the jar from her hand and heard him laughing.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, using the handkerchief he held out to her to dab up the tears streaming from her eyes. She hoped her mascara wasn't running. "Goodness. That stuff is awful."

Jack laughed and twisted the cap back onto the jar. "The worse it tastes, the better it is. I bet your belly is feelin' nice and warm about now, ain't it?"

"It is," Mia said, then pressed the hanky to her mouth as she felt the urge to gag. "Oh, my." She cleared her throat and shook her head quickly. "Thank you for sharing that, Jack. I think."

He grinned gleefully. "Can't have you stayin' with us without ever tryin' our product."

She coughed. "Indeed."

Back in the truck, she reached into her handbag and drew out her compact, studying her face and dabbing up any errant tears she'd forgotten. She dabbed her nose with a little powder, freshened her lipstick, and patted her hair. Her throat still burned, but her chest and belly had a nice warm glow that she found to be quite pleasant.

"You know," she said. "If you could figure out a way to improve the taste, that stuff wouldn't be half bad."

"People don't drink 'shine for the taste, Miss Mia," Jack replied with a mischievous grin. "People drink that to get good and drunk. Now if it's taste you want, you oughtta try some of our fine apple brandy. Tasty and strong. It's very nice right out of the bottle, or maybe with a little hot tea."

"Perhaps I'll try some later," she said. "So. What do you do out here?"

He looked confused. "Pardon me, Miss Mia?"

She waved a hand. "Out here. In this town. What do you do all day?" They'd been driving at least twenty minutes and she hadn't seen a single department store, boutique or restaurant. No theater, no club, no park.

He crinkled up his forehead. "Well – I guess we work, Miss Mia. All day."

She looked at him, aghast. "Work? All day?"

He nodded slowly. "I thought – well, Miss Mia, Forrest was gonna take you on as our gal at the station. To cook, and wait on the guests. That would free him up so he could make more runs, spend more time at the still and in his office handlin' his books and orders and things." He glanced over at her. "He spoke to Mr. Capone about this. Ain't Mr. Capone tell you the arrangement?"

Mia frowned. "No," she lied. "I wasn't aware I was going to be made into an indentured servant."

"Well, I don't know nothin' 'bout no dentures and service, but it ain't that hard," Jack said reassuringly. "I can show you 'round the place tomorrow, take you 'round town. You'll get the hang of it in no time and I'll be there to help you out, too."

"That sounds perfectly lovely," she said flatly.

They passed through town, if the small little sprawling area that had wooden buildings and cars and people milling about could be considered a town. Mia looked around, horrified. _Is this it?_

She hadn't really known what to expect, but it was so bare, so small that it took her completely off guard. "This is – this is –" she sputtered.

"This is Franklin," Jack supplied. He gave her another charming smile. "Welcome to town, Miss Mia."

* * *

It was just after six and getting dusky when Forrest finally heard the truck pull up to the station. He frowned; Jack had certainly taken his goddamn time about getting here. They still had a run to make, to the next town; Little Bean had finally kicked the bucket and as was customary among the scores of members of his family, every funeral tended to turn into a party. Little Bean loved his "gals and giggle water" as one of nieces had put it, and Forrest had several crates of moonshine and brandy to take to them.

And he wanted to get going before nightfall, if Jack would just get his ass in gear.

The last customer for the evening had left about twenty minutes ago, and Forrest was washing dishes as he waited for Jack to return with the girl. Normally the station was open until at least ten o'clock at night, but tonight they were closing early since they had to get on the road. Besides, Mia would need time to acclimate herself to the place, and there was certainly no way he'd leave her at the station by herself without at least one of them around.

He felt the curious tightening sensation in his lower belly as he thought of her, then quickly banished it. He hadn't seen or spoken to her since he'd been in Chicago, and had assumed he'd never see her again. But here she was; pulling up to his station, in his town. To live under his personal roof for such a time until she could return to Chicago, and leave his life forever, this time for good. He knew that he'd had some sort of odd feeling about her when he'd been in Chicago, and over the course of one night he'd gone from despising her to feeling something he didn't have a name for. But she wasn't going to be a permanent resident here, so there was no point in getting attached.

As if he would, anyway.

Howard came in from out back. "Heard the truck, Forrest. They're here. We can get goin'."

"I know it." Forrest put away the last of the dishes before untying the apron around his waist. He was wearing a fresh shirt and pants, and though the days were warm, it still got quite cool at night, especially closer to the mountains. He followed Howard to the front door, grabbing his trusty cardigan and hat off their hooks on the wall as he went.

He went down the front steps, slowly placing his hat on his head. Then he looked up.

Jack was at the passenger side door, opening it, and then he was reaching inside to hand down a little figure. Forrest stared at the pair of legs that appeared below the truck door, little feet encased in a pair of expensive-looking black pumps. Jack shut the door, and the legs moved, and then, there she was.

For a moment she just looked up at him, and he at her, and her face was familiar. Why it might not have been familiar, he wouldn't know, but he felt strange as he took in her pretty features and dark hair. She had on a pretty dress that was completely out of place around here, and she was wearing gloves. She said nothing, and neither did he.

Finally, she did speak. "Forrest. It's lovely to see you. I hope you've been well."

There was something falsely sweet, a little sarcastic and even slightly imperious in her voice and it immediately made his skin prickle. He might have forgotten how pretty she was but he must have also forgotten what a little snot she was too, and the memories of her smart mouth and haughty temperament came rushing back to him all of a sudden.

He ignored common courtesy. "Best take your suitcases on in. We got a run to make tonight. Your room is up them stairs, to the right."

She arched an eyebrow. "Not even a hello for your new guest? But we're going to be roommates and all." Her tone was honeyed in sarcasm and she batted her eyes a little.

"AIn't no roommates," he said gruffly. "You work for me."

"Don't mind him, Miss Mia," Howard said from behind him, sounding very amused. "He's just a grumpy old hen. _I_ missed ya."

"Howard," Mia said, and Forrest couldn't help noticing there was a great deal more warmth in her voice. She allowed his older brother to gallantly bend over her hand and peck her knuckles with his lips. "So you've missed me, have you?"

"Oh, thought my heart was bleedin' all over the place in your absence," he replied with a wink, and Mia laughed aloud.

"You big kidder, you. I forgot what a flatterer you are."

"I'm told I'm a pretty good kisser, too, Miss Mia."

"Oh, stop it, you." She smiled and playfully smacked his arm with her clutch.

Forrest cleared his throat, annoyed. They didn't have time for this foolishness. "Howard, Jack. We best get." He glanced at Mia. "Take your bags on in, like I said. It's gettin' dark and cold. There's, um, some food in the icebox and the pantry if you want it. Might have to heat it up. Skillet's over the range."

She blinked as though she didn't understand what he was saying. "Well – all right. Jackie?" She turned and glanced at his little brother, and Forrest was confused, until he saw her wave her hand toward her suitcases and then turn away to brush past him and head up the stairs.

Forrest watched, still confused, as Jack damn near scrambled to pick up her suitcases and hurry after her, and then he got mad. He stuck out a hand, smacking into Jack's chest to stop him, and turned and glared at their new guest.

"Hold on there, now. My brother ain't no goddamn butler."

"Pardon?" Mia asked, turning around to look at him over her shoulder.

"I said," Forrest said evenly, "that me and my brothers ain't your goddamn butlers." He grabbed a suitcase from Jack's hand and tossed it down. "You carry your own bags."

Mia looked at him steadily, her hands slowly coming to rest on her hips. "I'm sure you wouldn't want a lady to struggle with her suitcases all the way upstairs, would you?"

"I don't give a good goddamn if it takes you all night. Jack, put that goddamn suitcase down."

"It really ain't no trouble, Forrest," Jack said with a shrug. "Won't be but a minute."

"Well, that's one minute too long," Forrest replied, starting to lose his patience. "The _lady_ here can tote her own luggage."

"Is this how you treat a guest?" she asked smoothly, folding her arms.

Forrest slowly took the steps of the porch, coming to stand before her until he was only a few inches away. She didn't even flinch, and in fact looked a little amused, tilting her head back to look up at him.

He made a great effort to look her in the eye and not at her lips. "Let's get one thing straight," he said quietly. "You ain't a guest here. As far as I'm concerned, you're an employee now. And as far as your friend in Chicago is concerned, you're a refugee. This ain't a hotel, and we ain't your manservants. Now pick up your luggage, and take it upstairs yourself."

He turned around and walked down the stairs. "We'll be back late tonight. Make sure you lock the door."

He climbed into the passenger side of the truck, with Jack behind the wheel and Howard in the truck bed. As they started to pull off, Forrest glanced up, still seeing her standing there with her arms folded, watching them. She wasn't moving a muscle.

"Gee, Forrest," Jack mumbled as he drove. "Wasn't a big deal."

"Don't you let her push you around none," Forrest said sharply. He could still see her in the rearview mirror. "We ain't here for her amusement, and don't you forget it."

* * *

They made it back late that night, and not without incident.

While he and Howard had gone inside the basement of the building where Little Bean's funeral had been, delivering the goods and making pleasant small talk with Ida Belle, the niece, Jack had managed to find himself the target of an attempted stick-up. Forrest and Howard had left just in time to see a couple of thugs cornering Jack against the wall of the building, demanding his money and the keys to the truck. Forrest had tried to reason with the men, and found them unreasonable, so he'd slipped his fingers into his brass knuckles and broken their faces before anybody could blink.

The ride home was silent, probably because Jack was feeling a little ashamed. Forrest was pretty much indifferent about it, beyond feeling glad he was able to save the money, the booze and the truck, although he thought that Jack could stand to be a little tougher. He was a Bondurant, after all; they had not only a reputation but a legend to live up to, and with Jack folding like a card house at the hands of some common, petty thugs, it didn't bode well for the boy.

He was musing various ways to toughen Jack up when they pulled up to the station. Normally, Jack and Howard stayed at the old farm, but based on the late hour, they'd both likely sleep at the station. The headlights of the truck lit up the front porch and the front of the station, which was all dark save for the soft glow of a candle in one of the upstairs rooms. It was Mia's room.

"Lookit that," Jack said, pointing. "What in the hell…?"

Forrest squinted, trying to make out what Jack was talking about. He saw the objects, and fresh annoyance filled him.

Two suitcases were still sitting in the dirt at the bottom of the porch stairs.

They all got out of the truck and approached the station, and from behind Forrest, Howard started to laugh. "Girl means what she says," he chuckled, then looked at Forrest's face and laughed harder. "Boy, you got yourself a handful here, Forrest. This is gonna be fun."

"Your fuckin' handful, too," Forrest snapped, glaring at the suitcases. "You gotta put up with her same as the rest of us."

"You're forgettin' though," Howard said, grinning. "She likes me and Jack. You…eh. Not so much."

"Unlock the goddamn door," Forrest muttered, tossing Jack his keys. He glared at the suitcases again, then leaned over and snatched them up. He walked through the door as his brothers meandered toward the ice box and pantry, and then headed up the stairs.

Beneath the bottom of her door he could see the warm glow of candlelight. Without even knocking, he pushed the door open. She was standing at the window, and turned casually as though she wasn't startled in the slightest by his rude intrusion.

He unceremoniously threw her suitcases down on the floor, hoping he'd managed to break an expensive bottle of that perfume she wore that he could smell in his sleep. "Guess you've made your point," he snarled. "Let me just tell you that –"

For the first time since entering the room he really looked at her, and then he forgot what he was going to say.

She was dressed in a white nightdress that reached her knees, and standing in front of the candle. The light from the flame illuminated her as she turned to look at him, setting her body aglow, and he realized he could see the outline of every dip and curve under that nightdress.

"Tell me what, Forrest?" she asked calmly.

His eyes raked over her body, catching the unmistakable outline of the curve of her breast topped with a prominent nipple, before dropping his eyes to the floor.

"You start tomorrow," he muttered. "You best be up on time to fix breakfast. Jack'll show you how."

As he turned to leave, he caught sight of the triumphant smirk on her face just before he quickly shut the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Happy Friday! Wanted to update both stories (or do I mean all 4 stories...) but only got to this one. I can't stop with these two! Here we have more Mia being Mia. I know that she's not particularly likeable right now, but that's the point. I want to show her growth as we move along and who knows...you might like her by the end. :-) **

**Here I address the issue of electricity and running water in rural 1930s Virginia. And special thanks to my lovely Mals for providing SO MUCH insight on this. Being from Virginia herself, she was more than generous in handing down family anecdotes and realities of this time period and I would have been lost here if not for her. She also helped me generate more mischief for Mia :-)**

**And very special shout-out to Nik. If you recall from her Lawless fic, the general store was operated by an old lady named Mary Lou Burkett who did not operate with a filter :-) I got to thinking how Mary Lou would have reacted to someone like Mia, and then she started talking to me. Instead of trying to come up with my own character, I shamelessly stole her and put her into mine :-) Well, I didn't steal, not really. Nik graciously lent her to me. So hopefully I do her good justice. **

**Have a great weekend everyone. You can make mine extra-special by leaving me lots of reviews. MWAH!**

**Chapter 7**

At five o'clock the next morning, Forrest was up, dressed, and ready to begin his day.

The first thing he did was set a pot of coffee to percolate on the stove. The second was to stroll across the dining area of the station into the small living room that was just off to the right and use his boot against Jack's bottom to wake him up.

"Hmm?" Jack murmured sleepily. He'd slept in his pants, his button-up shirt and jacket tossed carelessly on the floor.

Forrest hooked his thumbs through his suspenders and waited for his brother to wake up a little more before he started speaking. "Howard and me are gonna head out to the still this morning to check on the mash and see if we can't start jarring. You need to get up now and get things prepared for the morning rush."

"Miss Mia?" Jack asked with an enormous yawn.

"Make sure she's up and outta bed by six-thirty. Don't want her baby-steppin' into nothin', make her work by your side. After the breakfast rush you can shut it down and take her 'round the place, and into town. We need supplies, anyway. I went ahead and sent in an order for flour, potatoes, rice and cornmeal, as well as canned goods and some chickens."

"Aw, Forrest," Jack groaned. "You know I hate messin' with them damn birds. They're always so goddamn ornery. Can't you make Howard go get 'em later? You know he's got a way with animals more'n me. Those little fuckers like to try to peck my damn eyes out."

"No," Forrest said firmly. "They'll be in cages like they always are. Just take my old work gloves if you're so frightened."

Jack rolled his eyes but nodded. He got up and shrugged into his shirt and followed Forrest into the kitchen, where he poured out two cups of freshly brewed coffee. He pushed one saucer toward Jack and kept one for himself.

"Now," Forrest said sternly, "it's important that she pay attention so don't let her distract you none. And like I said make her do things too, even if it's just crackin' eggs for you. I asked Mr. Capone what she could do and he told me she could cook, but I ain't so sure. At least, she ain't cookin' the type of food our customers eat."

"Wonder what them Eye-talians eat," Jack mused, sipping his coffee. "Might be nice to try some one day."

"Not to be served in this station," Forrest said firmly. "You know these men are a meat-and-potatoes bunch. They ain't gonna try whatever it is she does know how to cook."

"I'll teach her," Jack said with a shrug. "There's a few recipes and things that Mama left too."

"All right." At that moment he heard Howard outside, honking the truck's horn. He quickly finished off his coffee and placed the dish in the sink. "Best be goin'. Now, remember – up and at 'em by six-thirty. Howard and me should be back before eight, or shortly thereafter."

"I got you, Forrest," Jack said.

With a nod, Forrest grabbed his sweater and hat and went out to meet Howard.

* * *

They arrived back at the station just before eight, and as Forrest walked through the door, he saw with satisfaction they had a nice full crowd this morning. Some days he couldn't understand why; the food was nothing to shout about and he was certain that most of these men had wives that could cook a damned sight better than Jack. On the other hand, Blackwater Station was the only place a man could come and get a shot of whiskey or brandy to go with his coffee, and Forrest could only assume their wives, if they had them, certainly weren't allowing _that_ at their tables.

He nodded at his patrons; there was Danny, and Jimmy Turner. There was Sheriff Hodges and the deputies, Henry and Jeff. There was Stogie Pete and Les Hallows, there was Lefty Brown and Big Jim Dance. There was Spoons Rivard and Junior Wilson, and Doc Ramsey and Bobby Byrd. He saw Cricket Pate, Jack's crippled best friend, hobbling around the tables pouring coffee, and Jack was at the range, cooking sunny-side up eggs and bacon, and there was a platter of sad-looking biscuits on the counter next to him.

But there was no Mia, anywhere in sight.

Forrest clenched his jaw. He'd already felt like he'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, because he was irritated that he'd actually toted the woman's luggage upstairs and then had to see her in that nightie of hers. He'd gone to bed with that image seared into his brain, and he'd developed such a stiff, hard woody that it had ached. But his damn pecker was a traitorous son of a bitch, and he refused to do anything about it but roll over and go to sleep.

Which had made him even grumpier.

To boot, the mash wasn't ready, and Forrest had been hoping against hope to be able to start jarring. But it just wasn't ready yet. Despite the fact that Mr. Capone was very likely heading to prison soon, he still wanted his next shipment of moonshine, and it was a shitload of work.

And to top things off, Mr. Capone's little friend that Forrest was going out of his way to protect wasn't holding up her end of the bargain.

Forrest frowned hard enough to make his head hurt as he walked over to the stove. "Where is she?" he asked Jack.

Jack looked up sheepishly. "What? Oh, ah. Right. Miss Mia. Well, she, ah –" He made a big show of scraping up eggs out of the skillet and onto a plate, followed by the strips of bacon he'd been cooking. He plunked a biscuit onto the plate and turned around. "Cricket, order up."

"Jack, I ain't got a lot of patience this morning," Forrest informed him evenly. "Where the hell is that girl? Why ain't she down here?"

Jack blushed bright red. "Well, I went to wake her up at six, like you told me. I knocked on her door and called out for her, and it took probably a good five minutes of this before I heard her call back to me. And she says 'You get the hell away from this door and leave me alone, Jack Bondurant, or else I'll come out there and box your ears!' So, not bein' in the mood to get slapped around, I let her be." He shrugged. "Ain't no big deal, Forrest, she can't do much now anyway. I don't mind."

"That ain't the goddamn point," Forrest replied, his patience well on its way to leaving him. "She has a job, and so do you. Stop makin' excuses for her, Jack." He huffed out a sharp breath, then shook his head. "I'll get her up my goddamn self."

He turned and walked up the stairs, fuming with each step. He reached her door and didn't hesitate, barging in. He glared at the bed, seeing a jumble of quilts and sheets and pillows. He saw some dark hair poking out between a couple of pillows, and one slender little foot sticking out from underneath the quilt, exposed to the ankle.

She was slumbering quite peacefully, he noticed, and then he grabbed her ankle and yanked.

The mass of bedding and pillows and went sliding to the floor and with a startled scream and thump, she joined them. Based on the volume of that thump, Forrest reckoned her backside hit the floor pretty good, and he folded his arms as her form squirmed and wiggled like an angry cat before her head emerged, her dark hair wild and her eyes snapping with rage.

"What's the matter with you!" she shouted, trying to hold the sheet to her body as she grabbed at her pillows and quilt. "Are you an animal or something?" She sat down hard on her bare mattress, bedding puffed up all around her.

Forrest shut the door and approached the bed, his gaze hard and fixed on her. Her eyes widened a little, and then she quickly frowned.

"Get away from me," she said, her tone haughty and bossy.

Forrest ignored her and leaned across the bed into her face. "I don't know what kinda shit you think you're pullin', but as I told you yesterday, you work for me. In that kitchen, cookin' and servin' my customers. You _will_ be up at six in the morning, every morning, and you _will_ listen to everything I say. You don't get the luxury of sleepin' in late as you want anymore, not while you're under this roof, and there's work to be done, _so get your ass out of the bed."_

She sneered at him. "My, my. Those are some lofty words coming from a man like you." She lifted her chin and looked away, making a show arranging herself comfortably back in bed. "But I don't take orders from anyone. Least of all you. Now go away."

He reached out and grabbed her chin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get her attention, and her eyes went wide again as he turned her face toward his.

"A man like me is the only thing keepin' you safe," he informed her quietly. "You wanna go back to Chicago and get snapped up by the Feds or maybe by your friend's enemies, be my guest."

"You wouldn't risk doing anything that would get Alphie sore at you and take away his business," she said bravely. "And that includes sending me back."

He pulled firmly on her chin, surprising her into silence. "You got ten minutes to get up and get dressed, or so help me God, I will take this bed and everything with it and burn it in the backyard. And then, I'll box _your _ears." He released her as she simultaneously jerked her head away. He heard her mumble under her breath as he turned for the door.

"Please. We both know _that's_ a lie."

He paused, contemplating verbally redirecting her, then shook his head and left her room.

* * *

Mia was bored.

All morning long, she'd worked alongside Jack – in an _apron_ – cooking breakfast for the customers. More accurately, he'd done most of the cooking. She had cracked eggs for him and placed bacon slices in the pan. She knew how to make coffee – much better coffee than the sludge that was sitting in the coffeepot right now – so she took over that duty. Jack had even told her to go from table to table refilling cups.

It had been positively degrading. Mia Angela Scalise, waiting tables. The men had all tried to make small talk with her, find out her name and where she was from, but she looked at them with a stony expression and said nothing. They were filthy hillbillies, this bunch, and she wanted to make it clear that she had nothing to do with this lifestyle. It was a little hard to pour coffee with her nose in the air, but she managed it all the same. She ignored the comments she'd heard spoken under their breath when she left their tables – "Uppity little bitch, ain't she?" – and went about her business.

Furthermore, she stank. She smelled like grease and burnt meat, and it was in her hair and on her clothes. And she had grease stains splattered on her dress. It was just an old thing, from last spring, but it was still in good condition, and it made her mad. She was sweating, and she feared her mascara was running and her lipstick smudged from the sweat. She felt like pouting, like throwing the coffeepot across the room. How could Al? she raged to herself. How could he send her to a place like this and make her do work that was so clearly beneath her?

After the breakfast rush, Jack flipped the open sign to "closed" and switched off the light that lit up their sign, which he was pretty proud of. "We just got electricity in town," he informed her, eliciting a raise of the eyebrows from her.

"What do you mean, 'just got'?" she asked. "Electricity has been around for years."

"Well, Miss Mia, all due respect, we ain't some fancy place like Chicago," Jack said. "We got power lines put in a few months back after all the townsfolk signed a petition for the bigger cities to bring it out here. And so me and Cricket, we rigged up that sign and hooked up and jiggered all the lights in here, too." He waved his hand around, looking proud. "The big city done put in all the poles but we done all the lighting ourselves."

AS if on cue, the back door opened and a slight boy of about twenty stepped through. Mia assumed, based on the boy's limping gait, that this was Jack's friend Cricket. His boyish face lit up at the sight of her.

"You're Miss Mia," he said, his voice soft-spoken and with the same kind of twang as Jack's. _As everyone around here. _"I'm Cricket Pate. I heard a lot aboutcha. It's nice to meet you."

"How do you do," Mia replied, letting the boy give her fingers a little wiggle. "I've heard about you too. In fact, Jackie here was just telling me all about how you rigged up this place with electricity."

"Yes, that's true," Cricket replied with a smile as proud as Jack's. "We sure did take care of that ourselves."

"Miss Mia's been doin' real good," Jack informed his friend. "Waitin' on the tables and helpin' me cook. I think – I think the folks seem to like her."

Mia smirked; it was a lie, and she knew he knew it was a lie. "Everyone is just so – swell."

"Well," Jack said, rubbing his hands together. "Breakfast is over. Station's closed. You want a little tour, Miss Mia?"

She smiled with false sweetness. "Well, that would be just grand."

The two boys led her over the property. The station itself was a sprawling wooden building that might have once been a house. There were two gas pumps at the front for cars to pull up to and fill up their tanks. Around back, there were acres of land and trees, plus a house about a quarter of a mile away that Jack told her was his parents' farm.

"Me and Howard live there mostly, and Forrest moved to the station to be closer to things," Jack explained.

Mia jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward a cellar in the ground next to the station. "Like his merchandise."

Jack nodded. "Well, we do keep crates of liquor on hand," he admitted. "In the cellar and in the shed, too."

"Where do you make it?" she asked, glancing around. "At the house? What's that other building next to your house?"

"That? Oh, that's the barn, Miss Mia," Jack explained. "We got animals and livestock there, too. No, we don't make liquor there. Forrest, he has a still a ways from here. Secret location."

"What sorts of animals do you have?" she asked curiously.

"Well, on the other side of the barn, which you can't see, we got a pasture with some cows," Jack informed her. "We got some pigs. Some chickens, too. Fresh eggs from the hens. You'll probably be collectin' those at some point. I could even teach you how to milk a cow."

He was completely serious. Mia looked at him in horror.

He swallowed at her expression. "I mean, ain't no hurry. I can show you these things on another day."

They walked back into the station, and Jack showed her around the kitchen while Cricket lounged at the counter. "So, over here is pantry," he said, gesturing to something that looked like a big closet in the back corner of the room. "And right here we got the icebox and then we got the range."

"Icebox?" Mia repeated. "What about your monitor-top?" She glanced around, trying to locate the refrigerator with Queen-Anne style legs that was in every home _she_ ever visited.

"Monitor-top?" Jack repeated, mystified.

"A refrigerator," Mia said, lifting an eyebrow.

"Oh, that," Jack said. He chuckled. "We don't really need them newfangled gadgets, Miss Mia. The icebox does plenty."

"It freezes things," she said unnecessarily. "So your food is either frozen, or it's dry? Where do you keep your meat?"

"It's in there. Just take it out of the icebox the night before," Jack said with a shrug.

"Well, where do you store things like chicken salad and cream and butter and milk?"

"We don't have things like chicken salad," Jack said, smiling. "We got meat and eggs. We need milk, we take it right from the cow as we need it."

Mia thought of all the delightful things she kept in her own refrigerator and struggled to accept the utter simplicity of what he was suggesting. "_Everyone _has a refrigerator where I come from." She was surprised that a man as business-savvy as Forrest wouldn't have at least equipped his station with modern appliances. True, the refrigerator was pricey at two hundred fifteen dollars, but a man like Forrest could easily afford that and never even miss the money.

"It seems awfully silly to me not to have something that can preserve and extend the life of your food," she went on. "Especially with the money you must spend on groceries."

"Maybe one day," Jack said. "Speaking of groceries – we better get to town and back before the lunch rush comes."

"Fine," Mia sighed. "Let me wash my hands first." She moved to the sink and turned on the water. It was icy cold, and she frowned, trying to adjust it to make it warmer. It stayed cold. She glanced back at Jack. "Your hot water doesn't seem to be working."

She watched as he exchanged an amused glance with Cricket. "Miss Mia, we don't have hot running water."

She must not have heard him correctly. "Excuse me?" She had used cold water to splash on her face this morning, but that had been on purpose, not out of necessity. And she'd been so relieved at the sight of an indoor toilet and knowing she wouldn't have to use an outhouse that she hadn't paid much attention to anything else.

"Well, what I mean to say is that we don't have no hot running water," Jack repeated patiently.

"How – how do you bathe?" Mia demanded.

"Cold water or in the crick. Bar of soap, and nice and fast." Jack smiled.

Mia frowned. "I like hot baths."

"Well, that don't mean you can't take one," Jack insisted. "You just run you some water in a big pot and heat it on the stove, then take it upstairs and pour it in the tub."

Mia had gotten a look at that tub, nice and big with claw feet. She'd been surprised by the sight of it, but it made her hanker for a real bath instead of taking bird baths standing up. The thought of toting pot after pot of water up and down the stairs made her cringe.

"I'll help ya," Jack said quickly, catching sight of her expression. "Can't offer much in the way of comfort and luxury out here, but dammit, the lady can have a bath." He grinned.

Mia felt a pang of real appreciation for the boy. He was so concerned with acclimating her. "That's very sweet of you," she said sincerely. "I would very much appreciate your help."

"Well, shucks." Jack blushed a little and Cricket snickered. "We better git, Miss Mia. Cricket, you wanna come, too?"

"Well, sure." The slim boy carefully got off the stool. "Only if I can drive, though, Jack. You drive too fast."

Jack took her around "town", which was really just a small patch of land crowded with wooden buildings that looked like it dated back a hundred years to pioneer days. There were various stores and businesses that could see to just about any need a resident of the small town would have. There was a hospital and a sheriff's office, a boarding house, a funeral home, a lumber mill and yard, and a big general store.

"You'll get groceries and things here," Jack said. "Ms. Mary Lou will see to all your needs."

He led her up the wooden porch inside the store. Mia blinked; she hadn't really had much in the way of expectations of the store, but there were all kinds of things, everywhere, and even a sign in the window that promised the option of ordering if a customer didn't see something they wanted. There were lots of foodstuffs, clothing, accessories, cosmetics, books and magazines, and a wide variety of knick-knacks and things Mia didn't even begin to have names for. She spotted a Sears, Roebuck & Co. catalog on a rack and grabbed it. The sight of it immediately warmed her heart and made her think of home, to the brand-new giant department store in Chicago with an impressive ladies' department that she loved to shop in. And then she reminded herself she wasn't anywhere near Chicago, and her heart burned a little.

"Mrs. Burkett," Jack called, heading toward the currently unmanned front counter. "Mrs. Burkett. It's Jack Bondurant."

A moment later, an elderly woman appeared from a room in the back who could have been any age between seventy and ninety. She had gray hair and an impressive nose on her otherwise small face, giving her the look of a bird. Her skin was wrinkled, her body tiny and frail, but her brown eyes behind their thick spectacles were sharp as a hawk's, and Mia could see they missed nothing at all and hinted at the promise of an even sharper tongue.

"My sweet Jackie-Boy," the woman said, her voice low and croaking. "Come here and gimme some sugar."

Before Jack could respond or otherwise move a muscle, Mrs. Burkett grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him toward her across the counter with surprising strength, and planted a big kiss on Jack's cheek while he squirmed. She released him with a little smile while Jack flushed red as a tomato and adjusted his hat, which had gone askew under the old woman's fervor.

"Uh, how you doin', Mrs. Burkett," he said, clearing his throat.

"Who's this gal?" the old lady asked bluntly, pointing at Mia.

Mia drew her head back in surprise, lifting an eyebrow. Jack turned and gestured back toward her with a smile.

"This here's Miss Mia," he said enthusiastically. "She's – um, she's a friend from out of town. She's stayin' with us for a little bit while her family hashes out some issues back home."

The old woman adjusted her spectacles. "And just where is 'home', young lady?"

"She's from –"

"Don't believe I asked you a goddamn thing, Jackie. She's got a right pretty mouth; I 'spect she knows how to use it." Mrs. Burkett fixed her with a pointed stare.

Mia cleared her throat. "I'm from Chicago," she replied.

"Well, aren't you, now. And you best be tackin' on a 'ma'am' to the end of any sentence you direct at me, honey-pie."

Mia lifted an eyebrow again. "Yes, _ma'am_," she replied edgily.

The old woman tilted her head. "Pretty gal from Chicago. Big city. Look at that fancy dress you got on there. You do chores in somethin' like that?"

"I don't do chores at all," Mia replied with a smile. "_Ma'am_."

The woman snorted and looked at Jack. "You best get _that_ under control."

"Excuse me?" Mia said, folding her arms. "Get _what_ under control?"

The old woman whipped her head toward Mia. "That mouth and that haughty attitude of yours, little miss, is what I meant, not that I was talkin' to you."

Mia narrowed her eyes. The nerve of this old bag to speak to her this way. "Listen, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but –"

"Ah, shit," she heard Jack mumble under his breath the minute before he stepped in front of her and reached behind to push her back and then started talking rapidly to the old woman. "She ain't mean nothin' by that, Mrs. Burkett. She's new in town, you see, and she ain't from anywhere close to around here –"

"As I said, you best get that little thing under control," the old woman replied sharply, leaning to the side to peer at Mia from behind Jack. "Or someone in this town – like me – will sure be happy to redirect her. Don't you come back here, missy, until you can show a little respect for your elders!"

"Then I guess you won't be seeing me any time soon," Mia shot back, stumbling backward as Jack pushed her out the door.

"Won't be a minute too soon, then!"

Mia clenched her teeth, and wished she could march back in there and smack the old lady across her face. Jack turned to face her and grabbed her arms, bodily lifting her off the porch and to the truck where Cricket was waiting.

"Miss Mia," Jack implored. "You can't speak to her like that."

"Speak to her like _what_?" Mia demanded. "She spoke to _me _like I was nothing but a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe!"

"Around here, we respect old people," Jack said. "You're gonna have to make nice with her because you're gonna have to buy groceries here. There really ain't any place else to buy supplies. And if you wanna get on with people around here you're gonna have to be polite and respectful."

"Where I come from, respect is _earned,_ not given," Mia said fiercely, glaring up at him. "Just because that old bag is about to croak doesn't mean a goddamn thing to me in the way of respect!"

"Miss Mia, please," Jack said again. "I know things are done different where you're from. But – all due _respect_ – you ain't at home anymore. You're in our territory. Means you gotta play by our rules." His tone had suddenly become a little firm, though he was still being sweet, and Mia studied him through narrowed eyes.

Finally she sighed heavily and rolled her eyes with a shrug. "Fine. You want me to go in there and apologize to that old bag?"

"Probably best to give it a day," Jack said gently. "Mrs. Burkett is like to swing a broom at your head, she see you again. I'll go in there now to get our stuff and try to smooth her down. Why don't you wait here with Cricket?"

Wordlessly Mia wrenched the door open and flounced inside, sitting down hard and slamming the door shut. She felt eyes on her and turned her head, catching Cricket staring at her with wide eyes

"Well?" she snapped. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"You mouthed off to Mrs. Burkett," he said, his voice hushed and full of awe. "And you walked out on your own two feet?"

"I'm not afraid of any old bag," Mia said heatedly. "No matter what you hillbillies say."

"Mrs. Burkett is the oldest woman in town," Cricket informed her. "Nobody really knows how old she is. Some say she was the most popular southern belle in Richmond during the War Between the States before the war took her husband and she come here."

"So she's just an old bag," Mia said, frowning. "As I stated."

"She ain't no old bag," Cricket insisted. "She can kick up some shit, if you'll pardon me sayin' so. She keeps three rifles in her store and rumor has it she shot a bunch transients right in their backsides when they tried to rob her one night. They was runnin' away from her when she shot them."

"Hmm." Mia glanced toward the store. Jack still hadn't returned, so he was either still "smoothing her down" or he was loading up with their supplies.

"Miss Mia?" Cricket said tentatively. "If I might say somethin'?"

Mia turned her head. "What would you like to say, Cricket?"

"Well, I don't mean no disrespect, havin' just met you and all. But you oughtta listen to Jack. He's right – we do things a little different here. I know you're used to high livin' with famous gangsters and bein' a famous singer and all, I know you're used to bein' treated a certain way. Down here…no one knows who you are, and if you'll pardon my sayin' so, no one cares. You're just a new gal in town, and to be real honest with you, Miss Mia, there's more of us than there is of you." He offered a small smile. "Meanin' no disrespect."

Mia paused, every muscle in her body rigid for a moment, before she relaxed. It took every ounce of a humility she didn't even know she possessed to accept the boy's words. Had he not been as sweet and deferential to her while speaking them, she was sure the conversation would have gone differently. But she could see that he was genuinely trying to help her. All of this went through her head as she looked at him, eyes narrow, and he stared back, his eyes growing bigger with something like fear as the seconds ticked by.

"Perhaps you're right," she said finally. "After all, I'm not at home anymore. And you are a completely different type of people than I've ever encountered. I suppose – I suppose I have a lot to learn."

Cricket visibly relaxed. "You'll do fine, Miss Mia," he said. "And me and Jack – we'll help ya. We'll be your friends, since apparently you ain't got none and ain't really on the fast track to makin' 'em, neither."

Mia's first reaction was to glare at him fiercely, but then she realized how true his words were and she had to laugh a little.

As Jack emerged from the store pulling a big wheelbarrow loaded with supplies, she realized with a pang that these two boys were her only friends in the world right now, and the smile dropped away from her face as she realized that she was truly all alone in a strange, alien place that was just not even remotely close to home.

* * *

When they arrived back at the station, Jack and Cricket unloaded the groceries and Jack showed her where everything went in the pantry. Mia eyed the shelves full of canned goods, onions, tomatoes and apples, with sacks of flour, cornmeal, rice, sugar and potatoes on the floor. There were several brown paper-wrapped loaves on the shelves as well, and Jack informed her that the loaves were bread he'd purchased from one of the ladies in town. There were jars of jellies and jams, bags of apples and dried fruits.

They got done unloading just in time for the lunch rush, with Jack driving a big wire cage of chickens to the farm He'd loaded them into the back of the truck and the entire way home Mia could hear them squawking and flapping like mad. She didn't want to go anywhere near them. She would never admit it, but she was actually a little afraid of animals.

Jack told Mia to slice bread while he got bacon out of the icebox, more eggs, and some leftover sliced ham. He cooked the meat and eggs and made sandwiches for the customers while Mia brewed more coffee. She remembered what Jack had said about playing by their rules and managed to muster up a few false smiles for some of the customers.

Some of the men wanted moonshine with their lunch, so Cricket went around the room collecting coins from them. He disappeared outside and then returned with a few of the jars like the one Mia had sampled yesterday. Mia watched curiously as the men finished their lunches and started card games, or sat and chatted or read the paper. Within an hour, the station the quiet again.

"Miss Mia?" Jack said. "You want a sandwich for lunch?"

Mia realized she hadn't eaten a thing at all day so far; she wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, not even Jack, but she'd been a little nervous this morning. And she was already so homesick that it twisted her stomach in knots. But suddenly, she was hungry.

"I suppose so," she said. "What will you make for me?"

"Bacon and egg sandwich," Jack said. "I know it sounds like it ought to be had at breakfast but it's pretty damn good for lunch, too."

"Sure," she said quietly. "Thank you."

It _was _damn good. Granted, she was used to a small four-ounce filet mignon cooked to a perfect medium rare with a salad and a few new potatoes for lunch, but the bread was toasted in the bacon grease, the egg yolk was runny and creamy, and the bacon was thick and crisp. And she was actually quite hungry. Grease dripped down her chin as she took a shamelessly large bite, and she closed her eyes in contentment as she chewed.

"Why, I reckon she likes it," Cricket said with a grin.

Mia swallowed her enormous bite and daintily dabbed at her mouth. "It is very good. Thank you, Jack." She had a sip of water from the glass jar that Jack had given her – she'd sniffed it suspiciously to make sure it really was just water – and she thought that she'd never had such cold, sweet, pure water before.

"Straight from the well," Jack said proudly when she commented on it. "Only thing better than our well water is runnin' stream water up in the mountains."

"Mm." She finished up her sandwich and then leaned back. "I've never eaten bacon and eggs for lunch on toast before. And not the way you make it."

"So, can you cook, Miss Mia?" Cricket asked.

"I can cook," Mia said testily. "But I'm Italian. I cook Italian food. I don't know what you all eat out here."

"Meat and potatoes," Jack said. "Bread. Greens and other vegetables. Cornbread, corn cakes."

She just looked at him helplessly. "I'm supposed to cook this stuff?"

"Yes. Hey – I got some of my mama's old recipes written down somewhere. She never used to write 'em down but one year when I was real little the church wanted to put together a little book of all the recipes of the ladies in town. She wrote 'em out, then rewrote 'em nice for the book. I remember bringin' her pencils and paper and sittin' there while she wrote it all down. I wonder too if she ever got that book…" He rubbed his chin as he stared off thoughtfully. "Well, I'll look for 'em for you."

"Thanks," Mia replied flatly. The prospect of cooking this type of food that she was so unaccustomed to, three times a day, was very unappealing. "So what do we do now? And where are your brothers? I haven't seen Forrest or Howard since I was rudely yanked out of bed this morning."

"Forrest is likely at the still," Jack said. "And Howard is tendin' to the animals, them new chickens we just got. They'll be up for supper in a few hours. Then Howard will probably go off somewhere and drink himself to sleep, and Forrest will stay up doin' the books. Don't think we got a run tonight. We'll stay open until ten or eleven or so for customers."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Mia asked.

"After supper, I 'spect you'll do the dishes, tidy up down here. Get things ready for tomorrow's breakfast run, make sure you got all you need in the pantry. And maybe you can set down and study them recipes I'll find for ya."

"Sounds fantastic," she said dryly.

"In the meantime, we still got some chores to take care of," Jack said. "Cricket, you better git and see if your granny is doin' all right. You can come back around suppertime. I've gotta take a look at some things need repaired around here. Miss Mia, you can wash the dishes and sweep?"

She nodded wordlessly. She was already growing extremely tired of this arrangement.

At half past three, she was slowly scrubbing at a plate when Jack came in from outside, sweaty and looking tired. She offered him a glass of cold water and he nodded his thanks. He glanced at the sink, noting that in an hour's time she'd managed to wash only a quarter of the dishes leftover from lunch.

"How you makin' out there, Miss Mia?" he asked.

She sighed and rinsed the plate, then threw down her rag and turned to look at him. "Do you smoke, Jackie?"

He shrugged a shoulder and nodded. "Every now and again."

Mia untied her apron and yanked it over her head, resisting the urge to throw it across the room. "Then let's go have a smoke."

"Ah…" He trailed off and glanced at the sink, then at the door. "I still got some work to do, Miss Mia, and them dishes –"

"Just for a little while." She grabbed Jack by the arm and propelled him toward the back door.

Outside, he offered her a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. She started to reach for one, then hesitated.

"Don't like this brand?" Jack asked.

"I like it fine," she replied. "I just – what are those cigars that your brother smokes? They smell lovely. Like cinnamon and vanilla."

"Who, Forrest?" Jack said. "Oh, he gets them special made. Well, the tobacco, I mean. He rolls 'em himself."

Mia smiled. "Where does he keep them?"

Jack's eyes got big. "Oh, Miss Mia, I don't think he likes sharin'. Listen, I'll make a run into town for you later and get you some nice lady cigarettes –"

"Jack." Mia fixed her eyes on his and put her hands on her hips. She stepped close until she was almost nose to nose with him. "I'd like a cigar. One lousy little cigar. It's not the end of the world. We won't tell him we took one. Won't you tell me where he keeps them?"

Jack's eyes got even bigger as he stared down at her. "In – in his office," he said hoarsely.

"Good boy." Mia patted his cheek and flounced into the station. She found the office and glanced around. She spotted a little wooden box with a roll top, and on instinct, rolled the lid back. She smiled again at the sight of a pile of cigars, some thin, others larger. She reached for a thin one, almost the size of a cigarette, then changed her mind and grabbed a real, full-size cigar. She delicately closed the box and strolled back out to the porch.

Jack's eyes widened at the size of the cigar. "He makes little ones, too," he said. "Ain't there none of those left?"

"Oh, there were." Mia held the cigar to her lips. "Didn't want one of those, though. Light, please, Jackie?"

She knew she made a pretty picture, batting her long lashes at him, her lips just curled at the ends, and the look in his eyes confirmed it as he brought out a book of matches. He lit one and held it to the end of her cigar as she puffed repeatedly to get it going. When it was lit, she took a seat in the rocking chair and stretched her legs out, placing her feet on the banister. Jack's eyes flickered to her legs briefly before he quickly averted his gaze and lit up his own cigarette and then sat down on the top porch step a few feet away. She smiled to herself.

She sighed in contentment; for the first time, she actually felt herself relaxing a little. She puffed on the cigar, which was as tasty as it was fragrant, and the familiar smell wafted into her nose. It was a scent that she'd already associated with Forrest. He'd smelled this way in Chicago, and he smelled this way in Virginia. He smelled this way when she'd kissed him in her dressing room, and he'd smelled this way when he'd yanked her out of bed this morning. She felt a little frown cross her face at the memory. She was still beside herself at his audacity and rudeness; she'd been sure she'd won the battle of putting him in his rightful place last night, letting him have a good, long look at her in her nightie. His face had gone completely blank, much like it had been when she'd been dancing on stage, and the little crease that formed between his brows had reminded her of how his face had looked when he'd started to kiss her back in her dressing room. It gave her shivers. But unfortunately, he must have already forgotten last night, since he'd woken her so rudely and even threatened bodily harm to her. That was a joke. They both knew he would never dare touch one hair on her head.

Then she remembered the way his fingers felt on her chin, even though he'd been rough, and she remembered how close his face and been to hers, even though he'd been mad, and she thought maybe she didn't mind his touch.

"Miss Mia?" Jack asked tentatively.

"Hmm?" She lifted her head, unaware she'd even tilted it back against the top of the chair.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Yes, what?" she asked absently, puffing out a little cloud of smoke.

"Well." Jack glanced down almost shyly at his lap. "Other night when we made our run, we stopped off at a barnyard dance to make a few private sales. I seen this girl there."

Mia looked at him with an amused smile. "Did you? Was she pretty?"

"Like an angel," he admitted, smiling down at his lap. "Her name is Bertha. Thing is, though, she's the preacher's daughter. And her daddy don't take too kindly to bootleggers."

"Of course not," Mia said, puffing at the cigar. It was so tasty. "He's supposed to be a righteous man. And you and your brothers are criminals. Lawbreakers."

"Well," Jack went on. "I ain't seen me another girl in this town or for miles that's pretty as her. 'Cept you, of course," he added hastily with a little grin and a wink, and Mia had to smile at his utter charm and sweetness. "But, well, I can't very well court you."

"Oh?" she said teasingly. "And why not? I'm not your type?"

"Purdy gals are always my type," Jack teased back. "But – well, I guess if you'll pardon me for sayin' so, I don't quite look at you like that. You're like a friend to me, and besides, I seen the way you look at m'brother. I seen it back in Chicago and I seen it here. For all you two don't like each other, I think you're sweet on him." He shrugged. "If you'll pardon me sayin' so."

"You're mistaken," Mia said loftily. "There's nothing about your brother to be sweet on. He's the most unreasonable, rude person I've ever met in my life. And trust me, that's saying something. And I don't care if you pardon _me_ for saying so."

Jack was smiling. "He can sure be that way. He ain't so bad, though, underneath it all."

"Hmph." Mia puffed more smoke. "Back to the girl. Bertha."

"Right, yes." Jack cleared his throat and his ruddy cheeks blushed. "Um. Well. I wanna – I wanna talk to her. Court her, even. I feel like – she smiled at me last night. From across that barn, over all that music. I was hangin' back in a corner with Howard and she just looked over at me, gimme this little pretty smile. I just – I think I done fell in love, Miss Mia."

She smiled a little. "My, my. All from one smile?"

"Yeah." He scuffed the toe of his boot along the ground. "Anyway. I just – how do I court a girl a like that? I mean, she's a preacher's daughter and her daddy ain't gonna let me anywhere near her. He'd kill me first."

Mia pursed her lips, rocking thoughtfully in her chair. "You've got to show them both that you're not the fellow he thinks you are," she said. "You've got to show them that you're not a boy, you're a man, and that you're a _good_ man. That she will be safe with you and that you won't break her heart." She exhaled a plume of smoke. "Maybe you ought to go to his church a few times, show him you're serious."

Jack frowned thoughtfully. "I reckon that might be a good idea," he said. "But say I appeal to him, what about her? How do I get her to like me?"

Mia opened her mouth to speak when suddenly the back door slammed open. Forrest loomed in the doorway, staring at them both, his hands in his pockets. He wasn't wearing his cardigan and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and Mia couldn't help staring at the size of his big, strong-looking hands and muscular forearms and the way the tendons shifted and tensed under his sun-browned skin.

"The hell you all think you're doing?" he said in that quiet voice, staring hard at Jack and then at Mia. "It's damn near suppertime and the dishes ain't even washed, let alone food prepared. We got customers. You outta your goddamn minds?"

"Ah, sorry, Forrest," Jack said, quickly tossing away his cigarette and hopping to his feet. "We was just takin' us a little break, and must've lost track of time."

Forrest stared at Mia. "You ain't finished the dishes."

Mia slowly pulled her feet off the banister as she looked up at him, noting with satisfaction the way his gaze flickered briefly to her legs before she tugged her skirt down. She got to her feet and faced him, one hand on her hip and the other still holding her cigar. "No. I suppose I didn't. Oh, dear. Am I in trouble?"

His eyes fixed on the cigar. "Where did you get that?" His voice was still very low, but his eyes were steely and hard, and Mia knew he was good and mad.

She made a show of wrapping her plump, pouty lips around the cigar and pulling, then puffed out a perfect smoke ring, enjoying the way his eyes immediately fixed on her mouth. "Your office, of course."

He reached out and snatched the cigar from her fingers and crushed the butt against the banister of the porch. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the house, his grip hard and painful. "We need to have us a little talk."

As he propelled her indoors, Mia glanced over her shoulder. "That question you just asked me, Jackie? The answer is _not like this!"_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Grah. I know, I KNOW, I need to get back to Tommy'n'em, but I couldn't leaving you hanging without first getting you inside that office. So, who's keeping score? Forrest 1, Mia 1? Or Mia 4524009738745, Forrest zip? I don't even know. Anywhoodles, here you go. Reviews are VERRRRRY much appreciated. MWAH.**

**Chapter 8**

Forrest clenched his jaw as he led Mia across the station by her elbow, ignoring her little smug smirk. He ignored Howard, who was washing dishes at the sink and watching them with a big grin on his face, and he ignored the few customers that were there, watching and murmuring to each other. Luckily, they were regulars, of course, and wouldn't make any big stink about having to sit and wait longer than normal for their supper. But he didn't like making a scene. It wasn't the way Forrest did things, and it was infuriating.

He was already riled up after a little chat with Mrs. Mary Lou Burkett. He'd stopped by the store on his way home to make sure Jack had come by for the order – chickens and all, his feelings be damned – and he'd been informed that yes, Jack had picked up the order, and also that Forrest needed to get a handle on his new little gal before she got herself slapped silly for her impertinence. Upon further questioning, Forrest discovered that Mia had been extremely rude to the old lady, a longtime friend of the family, and was officially banned from the store until she learned a lesson in respect and came down in person to apologize. Forrest had apologized for her, and promised to bring her down the very next day to have that little talk. Mrs. Burkett had merely sniffed and said, "Be easier to draw blood from a stone than gettin' a sincere apology from that little bitch."

Forrest had other things that he wanted Jack to attend to around the station that didn't involve kitchen work or cleaning, so to hear that his brother was probably going to have to be the grocery boy instead of the handyman because the little entitled princess didn't know how to play nice was unacceptable. In addition to being rude to a friend of the family, she'd set back his work, thrown them off his carefully plotted course, and that further angered him.

And then – _and then _– she'd had the absolute audacity to go into his private office and steal one of his cigars.

That had pushed him completely over the edge. Who was she to think she had free roam of the station, access to _his _office? He didn't trust her. He barely even knew her. For all he knew, she might try to rob him blind and hop on the next thing smoking back to Chicago. He had a lot to lose, and he trusted none of it around the young woman.

Forrest had never in his entire life raised a hand to a woman, and had never thought he'd ever have reason to do so, but Mia Scalise was making him reconsider that position.

He pushed open his office and thrust her none too gently inside, then turned to shut the door behind them. When he turned around to face her, she was perched on the edge of his desk, her ankles daintily crossed and her arms folded. She cocked her head, an amused glint her eyes.

"You seem bothered by something," she said, pouting her lips then smiling. "I suppose I _am _in trouble, aren't I?" She batted her lashes at him coyly.

He approached her slowly. "You listen to me," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "I've had about enough of your bullshit. Ever since you got here, you ain't done nothin' to be helpful. You ain't done nothin' 'cept be a pain in everyone's ass. You've acted like the stuck-up, spoiled little brat that you are, and I'm wonderin' if lettin' Mrs. Burkett handle you with her broomstick wouldn't be the best option for you after all."

Indignation flashed in her eyes and she opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted a hand and cut her off. "No, I ain't done talkin' yet. Let me remind you that I'm doin' you and your friend in Chicago a favor by havin' you here. Apparently you keep forgettin' that piece of information so I gotta keep remindin' you, I guess. And before you go runnin' off at the mouth about bein' able to do whatever you want because I can't risk losin' his business, this don't have nothin' to do with his and my business deal. That was in place long ere you came into the picture – _my _picture, at that. If I sent you back to him tonight the only person he'd be gettin' sore at is you, ma'am. I'm sure he'd wonder at the fact I didn't just stuff your little impertinent ass into a crate and ship you back with the luggage."

The amused glint in her eyes disappeared and her impressive bravado oozed out of her. Her warm brown eyes snapped fire and she looked good and mad at him. Well, that was fine with him.

"And might I also point out," Forrest drawled, "that no matter how close a friend your brother was to Mr. Capone, you ain't his kin. Therefore he ain't got no ties to you. You really think you'd come before his actual kin, or his business? The lavish little lifestyle you enjoyed in Chicago, don't think that shit was permanent or at _your_ discretion. It wasn't. It was his choice. Whenever he wants, he can take it all away from you faster than you can blink. Only one of us makes Mr. Capone money. The other is just entertainment. Who do _you_ think is more valuable, at the end of the day?"

Mia snapped her mouth shut and stared at him.

He nodded slightly. "It would behoove you to never forget that." He tilted his head. "There was somethin' you wanted to say?" Still she was silent. "Speak up. Ain't got all day and you got work to do."

She blinked then, and her eyes glistened wetly as a hard look came into them. She was silent for a long time, and then said, "Why didn't you ever call me?"

The question caught him off guard and he was almost stunned for an instant. "Beg your pardon?"

Her mouth tightened. "You never called. Or wrote. Or visited."

Forrest immediately grew uncomfortable, and realized how close to her he was standing. He backed up a few steps. "Why would I need to do that? My business is with your friend. Not you."

She glared at him, slowly shaking her head as tears that shocked him filled her eyes. "Oh, you," she whispered angrily. "You proud, nonchalant son of a bitch."

Suddenly she slid off the desk and walked toward him, and every muscle in his body tensed as though he was preparing for a fight. She stood right in front of him, almost touching him, glaring up into his eyes. He couldn't tell if she was hurt or angry or both, and whatever the case was, he couldn't make heads or tails of why.

"Don't you act like you don't think about that night all the time," she said, her voice shaking. "Don't you act like you can't remember the way I smelled, and how I felt against you, how my skin felt under your fingers. Don't you pretend that you don't get chills when you remember how you looked at me when we hid behind that table, or the day you left."

Had she shot him, he couldn't have been struck more speechless. He kept his mouth shut, but he frowned down at her, his calm exterior belying the utter chaos that was clawing at him from the inside.

It was true. He could remember every detail about how she smelled that night, how her lips felt moving against his immobile ones in her dressing room, the jolt he experienced every time he looked at her, at those big, long-lashed, brown doe eyes of hers, or her pouty, plump mouth that was often given over to little snotty smirks; the flush of her pink cheeks and the soft mound of dark hair that was some indecipherable but delicious fragrance. He could recall how her warm, small body felt against his and in his arms, and how silky soft her skin felt. He did remember that burst of heat he'd felt when he'd loomed over her that night behind the table, protecting her from the shooters. He remembered in detail that sweet, hesitant look she'd given him when he'd given her his jacket, and the almost wistful smile she'd given him as her goodbye the day they'd gone back to Virginia.

He remembered all of those things perfectly, remembered them all the time, in fact, but he couldn't bring himself to say so.

Mia's eyes searched his intently, almost reading his mind, and suddenly, he felt her hands reaching for his shoulders, pulling herself up on tiptoe. There was nothing contrived in her face now, no self-satisfied look in her eyes, no smug smirk on her face. It was open, almost yearning, and he couldn't move as she pulled herself closer.

Her forehead brushed his almost gingerly, as though he were a rattlesnake and she was afraid of getting bit, and then he registered the pillowy softness of her hand light against his cheek. He found his head turning toward hers of its own volition, and then he felt the warmth of her breath puffing against his lips as her mouth loomed closer. His mouth watered in anticipation.

And then he jerked his head back.

"Don't you treat me like one of your Chicago playthings," he said, disentangling himself and cursing the way his heart was pounding. "I've seen you in action, Miss, and you must be plumb insane to think a man like me would ever fall for any of your tricks. You ain't wigglin' out of shit as far as your responsibilities around here go. And as to why I never called – it's 'cause I didn't have no interest in bein' the next Lucky Luciano. Maybe Unlucky, I let you get your claws into me like you done him. I can spot trouble from a mile away, and that's all you are. Maybe there was some truth to that bit he said about you bein' nothin' but a tease just to get what you want."

Her eyes filled with genuine hurt for an instant before being replaced with intense fury. Before he could register what was happening, a loud _crack_ filled the room and suddenly his left cheek was on fire.

"You – go to hell," she said in a shaking voice, then turned on her heel and slammed out of the small office.

Perhaps he should have felt somewhat triumphant about putting her in her place and getting the upper hand, or maybe even a little bit bad about clearly hurting her feelings, but Forrest couldn't banish a sudden surge of unease; she was unpredictable, a firecracker, and he was quite sure he didn't want to be anywhere near that explosion when it went off.

* * *

The next day, Forrest drove a sullen and silent Mia to town. She sat almost pressed against the door, as if she were trying to sit as far away from him as she could get, and she stared out her window, her chin in her hand. He sighed inwardly; he did feel a mite bad about some of the things he'd said to her in his office, but most of them were things she needed to hear. But he was man enough to admit to himself that she was right about telling him he remembered that night in Chicago clearly, if not man enough to admit it aloud.

And it had been out of confusion and anger that he'd spoken those last mean words to her that had earned him a slap in the face. He wasn't even that mad at her for slapping him; he'd sort of brought it upon his own head. Still, Mia had gone about her chores last night without a word to anyone and had done exactly as she'd been told. She'd grilled bread in the grease left behind in the skillet after Jack had cooked the hamburgers, and she'd peeled potatoes for him and even helped him slice them up to fry in the skillet. She'd served the food, poured the coffee, washed the dishes, and then had taken herself upstairs when Forrest had finally switched the sign off.

She'd done everything she'd been told…and it was downright disturbing.

Somehow, in the day she'd been at the station, Forrest had come to expect a certain level of her energy. She was spoiled and bratty, yes, but there was also a vivacity to her, a spirited air that was almost refreshing. For so long it had just been him and his brothers, and Lord only knew they weren't a particularly lively bunch, save for when Howard was at the bottom of a jar of corn or when Jack was getting himself into trouble. But Mia had rejuvenated the energy for a short while…and now, it seemed, it was gone.

Then again, women did find themselves akin to the devil at certain times of the month, he reckoned. Maybe she was just feeling a little blue, a little down in the dumps. And, after all, she was like a fish out of water here in Franklin. He had to admit it had to be quite a little shock for her to go from skyscrapers to dirt and moonshine.

Then he realized he was actually _fretting_ over what might be the cause for her mood, and shook his head. _Don't care one lick. I may as well stop giving myself a headache._

He pulled up in front of the general store and glanced over at her. "I ain't goin' in there with you. She knows you're comin'. Go on."

Mia shot him a glance, then silently opened the door and slid out of the car. Today she wore another pretty, expensive looking frock – made of pale icy blue and trimmed with lace. It had insets of pale yellow silk and was sprinkled with tiny pale yellow flowers. Her long dark hair was coiled back neatly away from her face and pinned at the nape of her neck, and Forrest found himself studying that part of her as she walked into the store, her heels thumping loudly on the wooden stairs.

He lit up a cigar while he waited for her, and as he puffed away at it, he frowned. He was still beside himself at her audacity, going into his office like she owned the place and helping herself to his private stock. What sort of woman smoked cigars, anyway? He puffed in annoyance, and then he recalled the way her pouty lips had wrapped around it and pulled, the perfect "O" shape they'd made when they'd puffed out an equally perfect smoke ring. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat a little. He was used to smelling the tobacco he smoked on himself, but he remembered smelling it distinctly on her in his office – a warm, almost spicy mixture of smooth vanilla and cinnamon. He thought about how good it smelled on her and took another thoughtful puff.

After a while, the front door to the store opened and Mia stepped out, looking calm. And behind her was Mary Lou. Forrest sat up slightly, his hand moving toward the door handle in case he needed to hurry over there and pull the old lady off of Mia. But his cigar nearly fell out of his mouth when he watched the old lady reach over and pat her shoulder, nodding. Her mouth moved as she spoke and Mia nodded in reply. They shook hands and Mia walked down the steps and Mary Lou disappeared into the store, waving at Forrest over her shoulder.

He stared as Mia climbed into the truck. He realized he probably should have been a gentleman and helped her in, but she navigated the climb up easily, arranging her skirt her around her as she flounced a little in her seat. She lifted her chin and said nothing, staring straight ahead.

He pulled the truck into reverse. "Well?" he asked gruffly.

Mia turned her head, looking at him with that haughty tilt to her head. "Well, what?"

"You apologized?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Just what the hell else would I be doing? Is that not why you brought me over here this morning in the first place?"

He glared back and shifted his eyes to the road. "The day you make a reply without usin' a tone that's just beggin' for a boot to your ass is the day I'll eat my own hat."

She shrugged a shoulder and resumed looking out her window. "Then you've nothing to fear. Your hats will most assuredly be safe."

Forrest rolled his eyes and said nothing.

He stuck around the station most of the day, in his office, handling paperwork and going over his ledger. Jack came in to help her cook, but she handled the serving and cleaning up and washed the dishes after the lunch rush. In the afternoon, he watched Jack help her refill the salt and pepper shakers and noted his brother's face as they interacted – he looked her in the eye, he smiled, he laughed. And _she_ smiled and laughed with him. For a moment, Forrest wondered if they hadn't become sweet on each other, and felt a strange pang in his gut that he refused to acknowledge as jealousy. But as he watched them closely, he saw the fond way that Mia would pat his head or his shoulder, and noticed that Jack didn't try to touch her back or stare at her longingly. They were merely friendly, and Forrest wondered why the hell the girl got on so well with his silly little brother and why they seemed to struggle so much.

Supper tonight would be hamburgers as usual, but this time Jack made Mia do everything while he merely supervised and directed her. Forrest decided to take a seat closer to the action and moved his ledger, pencil and cigar out to the dining area.

"…so now that you've added your salt and pepper to your meat there, Miss Mia, you gotta mix it all together. Sorry to say, the best way to do that is with your hands."

Forrest glanced at the girl, expecting her to put up a fuss at the suggestion she get her delicate little hands messy. Instead, she merely shrugged.

"How else do you think you make meatballs?" she countered rhetorically. He watched as she stuck her hands in the mixing bowl, squishing the raw meat and seasonings around. "You have to do it the same way, then you roll bit of meat into, well, a little ball before you fry them up."

"I ain't never had me a real Eye-talian meatball before," Jack said almost reverently. "Are they good?"

"Delicious," Mia said. "Maybe I'll make them for you sometime." She squished the meat around a little more, then looked up expectantly at Jack. "Now what?"

"Well, now you form the patty. So you take some meat, roll it into a ball and then press it down so it's kinda flat. We won't cook 'em up until later, but at least this'll be outta the way."

"How many shall I make?"

"About sixty."

"Sixty?" She looked at him in surprise. "This place can barely hold two dozen people."

"I know," Jack said patiently, "but they come and go. And some fellas like a double patty or seconds."

"Oh." Mia blinked at the bowl. "Will this be enough?"

"No, but one more of those will make it so. I've got the other package of meat from the icebox thawin' on a plate in the sink."

"If you had a refrigerator," Mia said, pulling off another chunk of meat to make another patty, "you wouldn't have to thaw it on a plate in the sink. You wouldn't have to freeze it necessarily either."

Jack glanced over at Forrest. "Hear that, Brother Forrest? Miss Mia here thinks we oughtta make ourselves a little investment."

Forrest glanced up. "Oh? And just what might that be?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, then shrugged a shoulder before turning back to her work. "You should invest in a refrigerator. They've got some nice models in the Sears, Roebuck catalog I took from the general store yesterday. They're two hundred dollars, but it would pay for itself in no time. You can keep a greater supply of eggs, fresh milk, and meat in the refrigerator, not to mention cheese and butter and cream and other things. That way you wouldn't be running to and fro from here to the barn for milk and eggs so often, and you could make greater quantities, or do this sort of preparation work a day in advance instead of a couple hours ahead of time." She dropped the patty on a plate off to the side. "You wouldn't have to throw out leftovers. You could store them for another day inside the refrigerator. In all, you'd save a lot of time and money in the long run."

_I'll be damned, _Forrest thought, rubbing his chin. He'd never thought much before of getting one of those fancy new refrigerators. And he was absolutely loath to admit it, but it sounded as if the girl had a good point. Two hundred dollars, though it certainly wouldn't break his bank, was a pretty penny, though, and he wasn't in particular rush to spend it.

"I'll give it some thought," he muttered, and went back to his figures. He glanced up from under his brows to see Mia shrug again. "But bring me that catalog later on, if you wouldn't mind."

She glanced at him over her shoulder again, and this time she looked vaguely surprised. "Sure," she replied uncertainly. "I'll do that." He watched as she exchanged a brief glance with Jack, who smiled, and then went back to her patty-making.

Forrest did decent business that evening among his regulars. He stayed in his office, but Cricket handled the sales, while Howard mingled. Jack sat in on a few card games but spent a good amount of time with Mia at the range, helping her cook the patties and grill the bread. At one point, she managed to flip a patty to the floor, and later managed to splatter herself with grease, yelping in pain, but for the most part she seemed to hold her own. When Forrest motioned to Jack to shut the range down, she got started on the dishes. And when she was through, she caught his eye and he nodded, jerking his head toward the stairs and signaling she could leave.

It was very late when Forrest finally came upstairs for bed. His eyes automatically shifted to Mia's door; as it had been the night before, it was closed firmly, with no light peeking out at the bottom. She must be asleep, he thought, and it was well-deserved. She'd actually worked, and hard, today, and he was almost proud of her.

Then again, she was finally doing what she was _supposed _to be doing, so he'd be a damned fool to be proud of someone doing only what was expected of them. Pride was reserved for those who went above and beyond, he told himself, and she was doing the bare minimum.

He opened his door and took one step inside when he heard her door open. "Forrest?"

He turned around, and silently cursed when he saw her. Though it was dim, the light in the kerosene lamp he held provided enough glow for him to see her in her white nightdress, her long hair flowing around her shoulders. He glanced at the floor, the wall. Anywhere but at her.

"Yeah?" he asked gruffly. "What're you still doin' up? It's late. You best be gettin' to sleep. You _will _be gettin' up at six tomorrow mornin'."

She looked at him, and even in the dim light he could see the look of deep annoyance on her face. "I know," she said pointedly, her voice dripping with sarcasm like honey from a comb. "I'm very well aware of that. Thank you for the reminder, nonetheless." She held something out to him. "You asked me for this earlier."

Forrest finally glanced at her and noticed she was holding a catalog – the Sears, Roebuck catalog she'd mentioned earlier. He slowly extended a hand and took hold of it.

She didn't let go right away and glanced up at him. He noticed how the lamp made her lashes cast long shadows on her cheeks. She opened the catalog and tapped it.

"See, here I've folded the corner down to mark the page," she explained. "So you can find it quickly."

"Umm. Thank you," Forrest said as she released the catalog. "I'll look it over."

"Very well." She turned and headed back toward her room, and Forrest noticed, through the sheer material of her nightdress, that she was not wearing drawers. _Son of a bitch._ He glanced away quickly and turned.

"Forrest?"

He turned slightly, lifting his eyes to her. She paused at her door, her hand touching the frame, and looked at him over her shoulder. Her hair was very long, he saw, reaching almost to the middle of her back. She watched him intently, and then smiled. He wasn't entirely sure he liked what was behind that smile.

"Yeah?"

"Good night," she said softly, and slipped inside her room, shutting the door gently behind her. A moment later, he heard her lock turn.

The click of that lock seemed to echo loudly throughout the very silent hall, and over and over in his head.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: We're back in VA! Whew. **

**So remember the scene from the movie when Maggie and Forrest have the bit about his hat on the table? Yeah, I stole that and put it in here with my own little twist. I loved that part and I think it's something that Mia would SO DO. **

**This chapter includes a phrase that was shared with me by Mals86 as something she overheard while growing up. It is offensive, and I apologize in advance. And thanks to Mals for mentioning it because it gave birth to this scene. **

**Enjoy, kids! Reviews are most welcomed and hoped for.**

**Chapter 9**

"You gonna spend two hundred big ones on a goddamn _'frigerator_? What in the hell have you done with my brother Forrest? 'Cause you sure as hell ain't him."

Howard looked at Forrest, practically aghast, a few mornings later over breakfast. The station was in full swing of the breakfast rush this morning. Forrest wasn't sure if it was the gloomy day that had men reluctant to get on to their jobs if they had them, or out and about to tend to their chores, but the station was stuffed almost to capacity.

Jack was helping Mia behind the counter, only this morning it was clear that it was more out of necessity to get orders filled than a need to provide guidance. She'd been doing well over the past few days, Forrest had noticed; she'd been cooking breakfast on her own the past two days, leaving Jack free to tend to the fence-mending that needed to be done or helping Howard up at the farm. She seemed to be a fast learner, and for all her spoiled ways, it seemed that cooking – in general – was something she enjoyed. She still required assistance with lunch and supper, since country-style cooking was something that seemed to completely evade her realm of culinary experience.

But she could cook very nice eggs – scrambled, sunny-side up, or fried. Her bacon was still imperfect. To Forrest's taste, it seemed she neglected to drain the bacon grease out of the skillet between batches, and that led to soggy, limp bacon. Other times, she cooked it over too high heat, and that made it slightly charred and shriveled.

Her biscuits were poor, sorry things, so she stuck to preparing sliced toast from the loaves of bread some of the women in town sold them. Eventually Forrest wanted Mia to learn how to make basic bread herself. She claimed to know how to make bread already – fine Italian loaves, she said. Forrest didn't know what made a loaf "Italian" or otherwise beyond the person baking it or the geographical location in which the baking took place, but he told her firmly her bread ought to look like the stuff he bought from Eleanor Whitman and Rose McByrne.

She seemed to be getting on better with the customers, too, which was refreshing. It was nice to not have Jimmy or Lefty Brown pulling him aside in the evening, _every _evening, to ask what in hell had possessed him to take on such an uppity little thing for his help, for all she was pretty to look at. He never answered them anyway, but still – it was annoying just the same.

A loud burst of feminine laughter suddenly rang out over the din and it drew Forrest's eye. Mia was cooking eggs, holding onto the spatula, but her head was tipped back and her mouth open in a wide smile as Jack said something that made another sweet peal of laughter erupt from her throat. Forrest noticed for the first time that she had a little dimple in her cheek when she smiled, and then he realized that save for the falsely saccharine, nice-nasty smiles she was prone to flashing when she was in a mood – which was most of the time – he'd never _really_ seen her smile before. It was completely different; genuine, unaffected and full of mirth, and the way it made her face and eyes light up made his chest suddenly feel tight. He'd never really heard her laugh before, either, or if she had it was in the same manner that her previous smiles had been delivered. Her true laughter was infectious, bubbly, sweet, and made him as uncomfortable as watching her smile did. He watched as Jack laughed with her, using his elbow to playfully nudge her in the ribs, making her laugh harder and squirm, and he felt that annoying pang of something he refused to acknowledge as jealousy as Mia swatted Jack with a towel she snatched off the butcher block.

Suddenly his older brother waved a hand in front of his face, and Forrest jerked his head back. "Get your filthy paw outta my face," he snapped, feeling the tips of his ears go hot. "Hell's wrong with you?"

"With _me_?" Howard asked with his trademark shit-eating grin. He glanced toward the stove. "Seems to me like you got a case of the little ol' green monster, Brother Forrest. You been eyein' Jack like you wish you had a thirty-aught-six in your hands." He lifted his brows, pretending to look shocked. "And as for the way you been undressin' Miss Mia with your eyes, well, it's positively indecent. She's your employee, after all, Mr. Bondurant. You oughtta be ashamed of y'self."

"Shut your goddamn pie hole," Forrest said gruffly. "Ain't doin' no such thing. Just wonderin' what the hell is so damn funny when they got customers to feed and wait on."

Almost as if she'd heard him, which would be impossible given the level of noise in the room, Mia left Jack at the stove and snatched up the coffeepot, flouncing out into the dining area and moving from table to table, refilling cups and making pleasant small talk with the patrons.

"Just to put your delicate little mind at ease," Howard said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his belly, "you ain't got nothin' to worry on. Them two there, plus Cricket, they're like the Three Musketeers. Just pals. Plus she likes havin' two young boys around to boss and play fetch-and-carry for her."

"And _you_," Forrest said bitingly. "Don't think I ain't seen the way you pitched in to tote the lady's bathwater up the stairs the past couple nights. You and Jack oughtta be ashamed of yourselves."

"What for?" Howard asked with a grin. "Up 'til now, all we got to look at all day is your ugly mug. So what, we enjoy havin' a pretty little gal around the place to liven things up? For all her bratty spoiled ways, she's a damned sight more fun to talk to and play with than _you_."

At that moment, Mia breezed past their table. "Be right with you, fellas," she said, with a wink at Howard. "Gonna see to these fine gents in the corner first."

"You go right on ahead, Miss Mia," Howard said with a big smile for her. "We'll still be here when you get back."

She smiled at him, then glanced down at the table where Forrest's hat was resting next to his cup. As she moved past the table she scooped it up and casually dropped it over one of the posts of the empty chair next to him before moving on to the table in the back corner.

Forrest frowned first at the spot on the table his hat had previously occupied, and then at where it now hung. He picked it up and placed it back where it was. He caught Howard's incredibly amused expression and waved him off.

"About this monitor-top. Now, see here." He tapped the page. "I know it's a hefty expenditure. But after thinkin' things over, and readin' the material, I gotta say that I think it would be a good investment. We can store more things in it, for a longer period of time. We got usable leftover food, it don't have to go to waste anymore, as we can keep it for the next day's use. It'll make storin' and usin' meat easier, too. And cut down on thawin' time. We'll still have the icebox, of course, but now we'll have this too."

"Just where you plannin' on puttin' this thing?" Howard asked, squinting toward the kitchen area. "It looks pretty sizeable."

"Thought of that, too." Forrest glanced over his shoulder. "This ad here gives the dimensions of the unit. I think if we move the fryer and the icebox a little closer to the range, it'll free up enough –"

"Coffee?" Mia appeared at his elbow, between him and Howard. She lifted her silver serving pot.

"Oh, why, yes ma'am," Howard said, pushing his empty cup and saucer toward her. "You're just a little lifesaver, aren't you?"

Mia giggled as she poured. "Never been called _that_ before. But I'll accept it."

"Thank you, you sweet pretty thing," Howard said with a wink, lifting his cup to his lips. He was really laying it on thick, partly to get under Forrest's skin, and it was working. Forrest stared at him witheringly. "Why don't you stick your finger in it and sweeten it on up for me? Won't even need a spoonful of sugar."

"Oh, you big flirt." Mia smacked his shoulder and moved around to Forrest's other side. "Coffee, Forrest?"

He nodded mutely and pushed his cup and saucer closer to her and she filled it. He kept his eyes on the catalog but he could feel her gaze boring into the side of his head. She nudged the cup closer to him, and then to his utter annoyance, picked up his hat again.

"Hats _off _the table," she said softly, and dropped it over the chair post again. She looked at him pointedly, then went to rejoin Jack at the stove. Forrest glared in her direction and reached for his hat.

"Don't you take that hat off that chair, now," Howard warned, his eyes dancing merrily. He pointed at Forrest. "Best show some manners, boy."

"You want to talk business, or would you rather just act like a goddamn fool?" Forrest growled.

Howard lifted his hands. "All right, all right. Don't get your panties in a bunch. Lord knows you ain't had someone around to help unbunch 'em in a frightful long time, don't need to make your condition worse. Now. Say we go place this order today. How long we gotta wait for it to get here? Do we gotta put any of it together?"

"Just gotta slide the shelves in and plug it in," Forrest said, reading the ad. "Otherwise it comes assembled. Says it'll ship from Chicago and take a week to get here."

"What kinda payment we talkin'?" Howard asked. "Draft a note?"

"Cash," Forrest replied. "Don't want to fiddle with bank notes. Quick and easy."

"All right." Howard nodded. "Let's make it so, after we eat. Honey!" He lifted a hand in the air to signal Mia.

Forrest sipped his coffee and kept reading. He hoped neither one of them would notice he'd left the hat where it was – on the chair post.

* * *

For the first time since she'd arrived, Mia found herself completely alone in the station that afternoon.

Jack was tending the animals up at the barn, having left right after lunch. Cricket was at home helping his granny around the house and wouldn't be back until the evening. Howard and Forrest were off in town "goin' to see about some business" as Howard had put it, on their way out. Forrest hadn't said much to her. In fact, they really hadn't spoken much at all since the exchange in his office a few days ago. Mia had been doing her best to play nicely and by Forrest's rules, but she hadn't forgotten the things he'd said to her, or the way he'd insulted her by pulling away at the last moment before she'd kissed him. Not only did it make her righteously angry, and bruise her feminine pride, but it also really hurt – for the first time since she'd been sixteen she'd been completely open and unguarded with a man, and she had been nearly overwhelmed by her feelings. She _knew _he felt something powerful back in Chicago with her – he didn't need to admit to it because the look in his eyes, that look of almost reluctant defeat, told her everything. He felt the same way, she knew he did, and he was yearning for more contact again, just as she was.

And then he'd brought it all to an abrupt and bitter halt, his words and insults slapping her in the face. Which was why she had very literally slapped him back. It was all she had.

It was why the next evening she'd appeared to him in the hallway in the sheerest nightgown she owned, and she'd made sure to remove her drawers before going out to talk to him. He wanted to put her in her place for being spoiled and obnoxious, and he wanted to call her a tease. That was just fine by her.

Oh, she'd tease him, all right.

Sometimes it was hard to stay lofty around him. She caught a glimpse of him one morning as he was starching his own shirt, which left him in nothing more than a snug white undershirt and pants. She'd never seen him in that state of undress before and she had literally stopped dead in her tracks as she looked at his back, so broad and muscled, his arms thick and heavy with sinewy muscle – rounded shoulders, defined triceps, impressive biceps. His waist was narrow, and his hips were square and straight, his belly flat, and even through the fabric of his undershirt she could count six muscles. He was broad and strong and thick where it mattered and she'd been so flustered when he'd turned and caught her looking at him that she'd squeaked like an idiotic little mouse and scampered off downstairs.

She also discovered he had an oral fixation. During quiet moments in the afternoon before supper, or in the evening afterward when he was tending to his books and ledgers, he always smoked a cigar or he chewed on his pencil. And the sight of his lips, so plump and full – and from personal knowledge, soft – pursed up around the end of a stogie or a pencil made her skin get prickly hot and her heartbeat accelerate. But he'd already caught her looking once, and that could never happen again.

He was so quiet and stoic that she could never tell what he was thinking when all of the brothers were gathered in the station. He never played with her like Howard, never spoke to her so openly or affectionately like Jack. She had never seen him smile, never heard him laugh. He was so serious, all the time, serious and guarded and impossible to read. It made her very uncomfortable. At first she'd thought that he would eventually turn out like all men did that she had interactions with. He started off with a hard shell but it would only take a little more effort than usual to crack the nut. But that hadn't happened yet. It was only in the moments that she designed and coordinated – like speaking to him when she was wearing next to nothing, being a "tease" – that she saw any expression on his face other than irritation. And that expression was hungry.

She supposed, now that she thought of it, that there had been other moments too where she had caught him looking, but she couldn't make heads or tails of either why he would be or what the expression on his face meant. There were times where she'd be laughing with Jack, or playing with Cricket, or even doing something as nondescript as flipping through that old recipe book Jack had managed to scrounge up for her and she caught Forrest staring at her. His face seemed so open in those moments, open and curious and keen, like he was trying to figure her out. She shrugged to herself – she didn't know why he'd pay her any attention in a moment she hadn't specifically designed around getting his attention.

Well, she was giving herself a headache trying to figure him out. There wasn't much to figure out – he was mean and grumpy, for all he was so heart-stoppingly handsome, and she hadn't forgiven him for the things he said to her in that office. Thinking of them now made her want to slap him again.

Instead she looked down at the cookbook Jack had found for her. Forrest said she must try to learn how to bake white bread like the stuff he bought from the old bitties in town. He wanted to save the money and have her learn to bake it herself and her biscuits needed work. She had never baked a biscuit in her life – how could she be expected to know what to do with them?

She was supposed to be figuring out something to make for supper. She supposed she'd be expected to make hamburgers again, and she sighed. It was so boring. What she wouldn't give for a nice plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She closed her eyes; she could almost taste the sauce, oily and rich, flavorful with parsley and oregano and basil, the spaghetti slightly chewy, cooked to a perfect al dente…

She opened her eyes and looked hard at the big platter of ground beef on the counter, thawing for the night's meal. She got up and went into the pantry – she knew there was plenty of flour, salt, and Jack had brought her eggs when he came in for lunch. There were plenty of cans of crushed tomatoes, and there were a few jars of dried seasonings on the pantry shelf. Nothing beat fresh seasoning, but dried would do in a pinch.

She smiled to herself. Spaghetti and meatballs for supper, it was.

Making pasta without the help of a hand-cranked machine to get true spaghetti was hard, and hers came out more like linguine, but it was fresh pasta nonetheless. The sauce was already simmering on the stove – she just needed to make the meatballs. She turned on the radio and sang along softly as she worked, her spirits feeling higher than it had in days.

When the first customers strolled in at half-past five, they sniffed the air curiously. "Whatcha got a-cookin' there, Miss Mia?" Jimmy asked, polite but suspicious.

"Spaghetti and meatballs," she replied. "You'll like it."

He and Lefty Brown exchanged a skeptical glance that Mia found offensive and took seats at the back. She returned her attention to frying the last of the meatballs – she'd made almost a hundred over the course of the afternoon, and there should be plenty go around. In fact, they were so good, she hoped she'd made enough.

She scooped up two plates of spaghetti and covered them with sauce, then plunked a couple of meatballs on top of each mound. She had sliced up some of the white loaves that Forrest had on his shelves and rubbed with them with the garlic she'd roasted in the oven earlier, then sprinkled on a little chopped parsley. She triumphantly carried the plates over and both men peered up at her.

"Dinner is served," she announced, setting their plates down. She smiled at them expectantly.

"Oh, ahem." Lefty Brown cleared his throat and sniffed his plate. "Um, mmm. Smells real good, Miss Mia."

Jimmy was less subtle. "Ain't you got no burgers today, Miss Mia?" he asked plaintively. "No regular bread, no taters?"

Mia frowned. "I'm sick of hamburgers," she replied. "This is much better. Just try it."

She began serving up more plates as the station started to fill up with men done with their jobs, finished with their chores. Mia noticed that there was a fair amount of customers in the station on a nightly basis, and they were all men. They didn't just come to drink, they came to eat and to socialize too. She wondered what their wives thought, or how many of them were even married at all. She didn't think Franklin was a big enough town with a big enough population to have so many unmarried men. She made a note to ask Jack about that later on.

The station seemed a little quieter tonight instead of its normal volume of "uproarious". She noticed that the men were talking quietly amongst themselves but glancing at her. Some were eating her food, some hadn't touched their plates, and some were just pushing it around or nibbling on the meatballs.

An hour after the supper rush started, Jack and Cricket entered the station. Immediately Jack stopped and sniffed the air. "What in tarnation is that smell?"

Mia looked over at him from the counter where she was preparing a plate. She held it out to him. "Supper."

"What – what is that?" Cricket asked suspiciously. "I was hopin' to have me a burger."

"We've had too much of that," Mia said, scooping up another plate for him. "We're trying something different."

"Oh, shoot," Jack exclaimed. "These them Eye-talian meatballs you was talkin' about before, Miss Mia?"

"Yep," she said with a smile. "Go on, try it."

She looked on as Jack speared off a chunk of the meatball and popped it into his mouth. His brow scrunched up a little as he chewed, but after a moment, he smiled.

"I ain't used to them seasonings," he told her, "but I'll be damned if that wasn't tasty as hell."

Mia beamed. "You like it?"

He nodded. "I do." He tried to stab a mound of noodles with his fork and bring them to his mouth, but they slid off and went everywhere.

Mia giggled. "Here." She grabbed a spoon and walked around behind him, taking his fork. "You twist your noodles onto the fork with the spoon like this." She showed him how to spin a mouthful of noodles onto his fork while bracing it on his spoon. He smiled at her.

"You just know all sorts of stuff," he said, taking the fork and shoving it into his mouth. "I ain't never tasted anything like this sauce before."

"But you do like it?" she asked. He nodded, chewing and smiling at her. She looked at Cricket. "How about you?"

"Oh," he said, blushing. "Oh. Um." He took a bite and chewed. "It – it ain't _bad_," he said cautiously. "I just – I ain't never tasted nothin' like this before." He caught sight of Mia's crestfallen expression. "But it ain't bad," he repeated hastily. "I'll keep on eatin'…"

"Well, I think it's damn good," Jack announced, his lips and chin splattered in tomato sauce. He grabbed a crust of bread and started mopping up extra sauce on his plate. "This bread is swell."

"What the fuck," a loud voice from the middle of station boomed out, "is this shit?"

Mia looked up, startled. A tall, burly man rose to his feet, holding his plate. He walked over to the counter and practically threw it at Mia. Meatballs went rolling, pasta flew out of the bowl, and Mia found her entire front covered in sauce. She gasped, looking down at her apron and where her arms had been splattered. She touched her face and her fingers came away with sauce on them.

Jack was instantly on his feet, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, now," he said, his tone even and deep. "Watch your mouth in front of the lady, Pete. And look what the hell you done – you got food all over her!"

The man called Pete cast a sidelong look at Jack. "Maybe you're fine with eatin' this shit, but we ain't," he said, then looked at Mia. "Why don't you be a good girl and fry up some burgers like you always do, and some taters to go with it, and we won't have us a problem?"

Mia had initially been shocked into silence, but the insults to her food and the man's incredible rudeness and obvious attempt to be intimidating infuriated her. _I've dealt with scarier guys than this before, _she thought, beginning to narrow her eyes at him. _And none of them talk to me like this. _

"Well," she said softly. "I guess we're going to have us a problem, then. There's no other food prepared, and I'm certainly not going to fix a second dinner. You'll eat what you've been served, and you'll like it, or you'll go hungry."

She started to turn in a huff, tossing her head, when a heavy hand closed around her arm – hard. She bit back a cry of surprise and pain as her arm was jerked, and she found herself face to face with Pete.

"You been an uppity, rude little bitch from day one," he said menacingly. "And it's out of respect for Forrest Bondurant that none of us men in here have dragged you out by your hair and put you over our knee to teach you a lesson." His eyes crawled all over her face, and though Mia shook inside, she refused to waver, staring back at him with as much ferocity as she could muster.

"I know you come from the big city," Pete went on, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you're all high and mighty, better than us, flouncin' around here, givin' yourself all kinds of airs. You must be related to one of them big-time mobsters, elsewise Forrest woulda never brought a little snotty bitch like you 'round here. But you on our turf now, little lady, and you best do as your told. I don't care what you gotta do to get some real food on the table but you got fifteen minutes to figger it out."

"And if I don't?" Mia asked coolly, refusing to show her fear. Pete's thick fingers squeezed into her skin so hard she knew he'd be leaving marks. "What will you do to a naughty little girl like me?"

"Mia, you hush, now," Jack said warningly. "Pete, now, you had you a little too much corn before supper, and I think you oughtta –"

"Jack, you should probably hush your mouth, now," Cricket hissed, his eyes huge as he stared at Pete.

"No," Jack said to Cricket, his tone brave. "No, sir. This is me and my brother's establishment, Pete, and Mia is our employee, and you won't talk to her like that. Take your hand off her, right now."

Pete looked over at him scornfully. "Listen, Jackie," he said harshly. "This is about as much your place as it is mine – it b'longs to Forrest and to Howard, everybody know that. You ain't runnin' shit around here, you little snot-nosed fucker. Grow some hair on your chest and your balls before you address a real man."

Jack stared at him coldly. "Get the hell out of here, Pete. You git, right now!"

Pete reached out one hand and shoved Jack hard in the middle of his chest, sending him flying backwards to land on his rump. His eyes went wide with shock as his air whooshed out of his lungs, his face red.

"Jack!" Mia cried, squirming in Pete's iron grip. Cricket hobbled to Jack's side. "Let me go, you horrible brute! Take your disgusting filthy paws off me right now!"

Pete jerked her closer. "I ain't doin' no such thing. Git your sweet little ass over to that stove right now and cook somethin' we can actually eat or else your pretty little face is gonna be cookin' in that grease."

"_What the hell!"_

Mia jumped and her head whipped toward the door at the sound of the angry shout. Howard loomed in the doorway, glaring at Pete, and the look on his face – so unlike the completely jovial man she'd come to know and like – frightened her worse than the large man gripping her arm.

Howard stalked toward them and grabbed Pete by his collar. "Take your goddamn dirty fuckin' hands off her, you son of a bitch!" He shoved Pete away, then pointed at Jack. "You hurt my brother?" He turned toward Mia. "Miss Mia, you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm all right," she replied immediately, tossing her head. _Never let anyone see that you're afraid._

Howard whirled on Pete. "You fuckin' piece of dirty shit –" He drew back his fist, when suddenly Forrest stepped into the room.

"Now, Howard, that's enough," he said, his tone low and even. "C'mon, now. Back it up." He placed a hand in the middle of Howard's chest and gave him a gentle push. He looked at Jack, who was finally getting to his feet. "All right?" he murmured at his baby brother. Jack nodded. Forrest glanced at Mia over his shoulder, and she set her jaw, looking back at him. His eyes went over her sauce-splattered face, apron and arms, and she was too proud to wipe it off in front of them.

He turned back to Pete. "You put your hands on that woman?" His tone was still quiet, almost reasonable. "You throw your food on her, or somethin'?"

"Forrest, you wasn't here," Pete said, holding up a hand. "Now, you know well as anybody else how high and mighty that little bitch been actin' –"

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," Forrest warned him softly.

"Well, dammit, she has been actin' that way. And tonight she serves us this –" He gestured toward his plate. "This fuckin' – _wop slop_ instead of what we as customers come to expect at Blackwater!"

"_Wop slop_," Mia hissed, and then rushed forward. She wanted to claw his face until the blood ran onto the floor. Forrest stopped her with an arm and gave her a little push backward, without sparing her a glance.

"There, you seen that Forrest, huh?" Pete demanded. "Little bitch rushed me like an angry cat. I'm a payin' customer, I ain't gonna stand for this shit –"

"You keep talkin' that way, you ain't gonna be standin' a'tall," Forrest replied equably. "You listen to me, you drunk son of a bitch. Startin' right now, you ain't welcome at the station no more. Don't you bring your lousy ass 'round here for no food and no 'shine. You disrespected my brother, you disrespected my employee, and you disrespected me and all these customers. You put your hands on a woman and threatened her and you made the complete and utter mistake of puttin' hands on my baby brother. Now git your ass outta this station. If I see you 'round here again, I'll break your fuckin' jaw. And that's me askin' politely. I'm happy to switch to tellin', if you like."

While he was talking, Forrest had removed his hand from his pocket, and Mia saw steel rings covering his knuckles. He held his loosely clenched fist at his side, but from the way his body was tensing Mia knew he was prepared to swing if necessary.

Pete gaped at him. "You would kick me out, a loyal fuckin' customer? I spend a lot of money here with you, Forrest, and you would kick me out and ban me over this stuck up little bitch –"

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Forrest's fist slammed into it. Mia winced at the sound of the audible crunch of steel breaking bone, and her stomach turned a little at the sight of blood dribbling on the floor from Pete's mouth. The large man toppled backward and fell on his rear in the middle of the floor, looking stunned.

"Tried to ask nicely," Forrest muttered, almost to himself as he shook the steel off his hand. "Get his ass up and get him the hell out of here," he said to two men sitting nearby. They hurried to their feet and grabbed Pete under his arms, dragging him out of the station.

Forrest glanced around the room, his eyes narrow. "Anybody got anything else to say about the quality of the meal that was prepared and served for you tonight?" He looked from side to side. Around the room, heads were shaking, eyes lowering to their plates. No one said a thing.

"Anybody else got anythin' else to say, you're welcome to say it to me right now, outside," Forrest went on. "All you sons of bitches sat here while that bastard put his hands on a woman, and on my brother, and not a one of you had the balls to say nothin' to him, huh? So that tells me that you think what he done there was right. And if you think he was right, then that means you got somethin' to say against me and mine. So go ahead."

He looked around again, silently daring anyone to say anything. _He almost wants someone to, so he can fight again, _Mia realized, studying him from under her lashes. Her belly fluttered with nerves; she was frightened, she was exhilarated, and her heart squeezed in a funny way every time she looked at him. He was so frightening right now, frightening because he was so quiet, so understated, but capable of extreme violence. And he was standing up for her – he'd knocked a man nearly twice his size out because he'd dared to put his hands on _her_. To disrespect _her_. Her heart raced.

"No, Forrest, ain't no one got nothin' to say," Lefty Brown spoke up from the table he was sharing with Jimmy. "None of us ain't got no problems or grievances we need to air." He looked at Mia. "Begging your pardon, miss. I apologize personally for sittin' here while that jackass grabbed your arm."

She wondered why no one else had said anything, either. Did they want to see her treated that way? Did they dislike her so much that they were willing to stand by while a man two and a half times her size jerked her around and threatened to put her face on a hot, greasy skillet? She flicked her head upward in acknowledgment but said nothing.

"Now," Forrest said. "If that's all, then you should all get back to your meals. And let me say that if anyone tries to pull any shit like Pete did, you'll all get the same treatment. I make myself clear?"

There were nods all around, and Forrest stalked into his office and slammed the door without another word or glance. Gradually, the chatter increased and sounded almost normal, and Howard dropped into a seat at a table and pulled a jar of corn from his sweater pocket for a long drink. Mia cleaned up the mess on the counter, and turned to serve a couple men who actually came up asking for seconds. Eventually, Jack made his way to her side.

"You all right, Miss Mia?" he asked gently. "You got red stuff all over you. Here." He ran a washrag under cold water and proceeded to dab spots on her face and her arms. She sniffed and took the rag from him gently.

"I'm fine, Jack," she said. "I can do it. Are you all right? He shoved you awfully hard."

Jack turned a little red. "I'm fine, Miss Mia. Makes me feel like I oughtta learn to really fight. Howard and Forrest, they can fight. My daddy taught me how to throw a punch when I was real little, but I guess…I ain't so tough. Not like my brothers. I oughtta be."

"You're sweet," Mia said in a rush. "And don't you ever let anyone tell you differently. You're kind and you're nice and you're brave, and you stood up for me." She leaned forward and pecked his cheek. "Thank you, Jack."

He turned an even darker shade of red. "Aw, shucks, Miss Mia."

She patted his shoulder and wiped her hands on her apron. "Well. I better get your brothers something to eat."

She hesitated; would they even like her "wop slop"? There was nothing else prepared, though, and then her old bravado crept up her spine. _I'm not going to let anyone know that man got to me. This is good food and if these hicks can't appreciate it, they can go hungry._

She dished up two bowls and added bread, and then carried one over to Howard. She set it down in front of him, and he looked up at her.

"Lotta whoopee tonight, huh, Miss Mia?" he asked, his eyes twinkling merrily at her as he winked.

"Nothing like Chicago," she shot back with a smile.

"Mm." Howard rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. "Smells mighty fine, Miss Mia. Thank you."

To her surprise, Howard deftly handled his fork and spoon, casually twirling spaghetti and managing to avoid getting sauce all over his beard. "You seem like you've had plenty of pasta before," she commented.

He winked at her again. "I've traveled the world once or twice. I'm more cultured than I let on."

Mia smiled and patted his arm and walked toward Forrest's office. His door was still shut and she paused outside of it, feeling her belly erupt with nerves again. She knocked on his door.

"What is it," he rumbled.

"I, um," she began, then cleared her throat. "It's Mia. May I come in?"

There was a long beat of silence. "S'pose."

She turned the knob and opened the door. He was sitting at a desk with his books open, and smoking a cigar. He looked at her steadily. "Can I help you?" he asked, his tone slightly sarcastic.

She blinked at him in surprise. "I, um, I brought you something to eat." She set the plate down on the desk.

He looked at it and sighed. "Why the hell did you serve this tonight?" he asked, getting to his feet. "I told you before to stick to what I tell you to make. Shit like this happens when the men don't get what they want, and frankly, with this bunch and with Pete, what happened tonight was mild."

She stared at him, starting to feel anger stirring in her. Was he suggesting that this was all her fault? "I was bored of hamburgers," she said evenly, lifting her chin. "And I didn't want to make them."

"You didn't want to make them," he repeated.

"No," she said, her tone slightly challenging. "I didn't."

"So, _you _make decisions around here, is what you're tellin' me," he said. "That right? You run this place now?"

"I made spaghetti and meatballs," Mia said impatiently. "A very _good _batch of spaghetti and meatballs, I might add. Most people in this country have had them, Italian or no, and like them. It's not my fault that this ghost town is full of ignorant and uncultured _hicks _–"

He stepped up in her face so quickly she didn't see him coming until he was practically against her, his glare boring down into her. "I knocked the teeth out of the face of one of my most loyal customers tonight," he said angrily. "And he had friends here whose business I've now lost as well – all because _Little Miss _decided she was bored with the food she was supposed to be serving _my_ customers. You don't know none of these men or what they're capable of and you put Jack and Cricket in danger, too."

"Are you saying that this whole thing is _my _fault?" Mia demanded, shoving her hands onto her hips. "That _I_ made that man throw food and push Jack and grab me and threaten me?"

"It is your fault," Forrest said bluntly. "Had you done what you were told, none of this shit would have happened. What's it gonna take for you to understand the notion that you ain't at home anymore, little girl? Next time, I oughtta let the next man you piss off throw you around a little more. 'Cause apparently this wasn't enough."

Mia glared at him furiously, her fists clenching hard at her sides. She could feel her nails digging into her palms and had a moment of deep temptation to grab his plate and turn it upside down over his head. She untied her apron with fast, angry motions and then threw it in his face as hard as she could.

"I'm done tonight," she announced and whirled for the door.

He didn't move as the apron fell to the floor, taking a deep puff on his cigar. He pointed down at the apron at his feet. "Pick that up. You ain't done."

"_You_ pick it up," she hissed. "And like hell. You can _whistle _for me, for all I care."

Her eyes pricking with angry tears, she wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind her. Every face in the station turned toward her, wearing identical expressions of surprise.

She stared back, clenching her jaw hard. _Don't you let them see you cry. _Without a word she flew up the stairs.

_I hate it here,_ she thought, entering her bedroom and slamming that door too and then locking it. She went to the window and dropped onto the window seat and looked outside. It was familiar only because it was the only scenery she had seen over the past week. But it wasn't familiar; it wasn't home. And she was all alone. A feeling of deep, weary homesickness washed over her and she dropped her head in her hand and began to weep quietly, bitterly.

_I hate it here, I don't belong here, and I want to go home, _she thought, anguished. _I hate everyone here. Except for Jack. And Howard. And Cricket. But I hate their brother. I hate Forrest. I hate him most of all. Oh, Alphie, why did you ever send me here? I was better off in Chicago. I was happy in Chicago. I was happy at home._

She sniffled and tried her best to stop crying. She swept her fingertips across her cheeks to brush away her tears, but her throat still felt tight and her chin still trembled. She looked up at the full moon, rising in the sky as the sun dipped below the horizon.

"I want to go home," she said aloud, her voice shaking. "I just want to go home."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: There's new cover art! Check it out. Special thanks to analuziamira for sending me constant photographic inspiration. MWAH!**

**BIG FAT JUICY shout out to Mals86 for your suggestion at the end with the moment of intimacy. JUST perfect. MWAH!**

**You guys liking this all so far? This is really fun to write. We're starting to see some cracks in Mia's armor, I think. We'll see a bit more here. Tell me whatchu think in a review. Kisses. **

**Chapter 10**

At the end of the evening, when the last customer had left, Forrest sent his brothers home with a sigh. He'd handle the clean-up of the station himself, since it seemed Mia had made good on her promise that she was done for the evening. And Forrest didn't have the heart to go upstairs and make her come down and clean with him. Truthfully, he was irritated with himself – she could so easily rattle him and get under his skin that he always felt the need to strike first, but for the second time since she'd arrived he'd seen pure, naked hurt on her face. Hurt that he'd been the one to cause.

If he were being honest with himself, she really hadn't done anything so wrong by deciding to cook something other than burgers and potatoes – hell, he got bored with it, too. And after he reheated a little of her spaghetti in the skillet and finally tried a forkful, he discovered – to more of his irritation – that it was really quite tasty. But it seemed that while his default setting was asserting himself in no uncertain terms, hers was instant defense. He hadn't been _that _mad at her, really, but when she'd brought him the plate of the food that had started off this whole rotten evening, it had made him even more petulant. And his petulance caused her to revert to lashing out – taking on that imperious attitude of hers, acting like she could do whatever she wanted, calling them all "hicks". And things just spiraled out of control from there. As per usual.

It was that annoying bravado of hers that made him make the comment about allowing her to get tossed around some more in the future. The one that had really set her off. And truth be told, he'd never allow that to happen. When he and Howard had first walked into the station and he'd seen her struggling in Pete's iron grip, a cold killing rage had swept over him. It hadn't been because a patron was causing a ruckus in his establishment, or even that Jack was on his bottom on the floor after having had the wind knocked out of him. It was that ape of a man putting his hands on a woman, on Mia. And that had nothing to do with the fact that she was Al Capone's friend. He didn't know what it did have to do with, and he didn't want to think about it, but it had angered him all the same. A man just didn't touch a woman like that, with the intent to hurt. It just wasn't done. Daddy had never lifted either a hand or his voice to Mama, and he'd raised his boys to the same ideology. Men that beat women were weak men, Daddy had told them as boys. It meant that a man didn't have control over his own emotions, that he wasn't strong because he had to pick on weaker creatures. Women should be treated with delicacy and respect, his Daddy said, and a man should never forget that women were fragile creatures.

And Mia, for all she had a big bossy mouth and a sharp tongue, was just a small thing, with soft tender skin that could be easily damaged. And he was willing to wager that none of the fellows she dealt with in Chicago had ever dared to try to behave in such a manner toward her. He'd seen it in her face, that fear; she refused to look away from Pete, was doing a good job, in fact, of exuding bravery, but he could see in the slight tremble of her chin, the way her eyes went a little wide with every jerk, could see it in the desperate way her hands scrabbled against him, that she was terrified. Pete was a big man, even bigger than Forrest, as tall as Howard, and it wouldn't take much effort on his part to knock Mia to the ground, or worse. Despite his annoyance at having lost a few customers, Forrest wasn't sorry in the least he'd knocked teeth out of Pete's mouth. It had felt good, in fact.

Forrest finished off a portion of the spaghetti, feeling ravenous since he'd had nothing to eat since lunchtime. With every bite he grew more and more annoyed with himself, and started feeling a mite bad about how he'd treated her. He was certain she was still shaken when she showed up outside his office, for all her head-tossing and fearless declarations that she was fine. She apparently didn't like to show weakness of any kind, except when she couldn't help it.

When she was hurt.

He finished up the dishes and stretched, his back feeling tight. He grabbed the lamp and headed slowly up the stairs; it was nearly midnight. He reached the top of the stairs and glanced to the right, at Mia's firmly shut door. He heard a little noise and stopped dead in his tracks, listening closely. Then he felt even worse.

It was the sound of someone crying, very softly, like they were trying to not be heard.

It wasn't all-out sobbing or bawling. There were no loud cries or wails. But he could hear little sniffles and the sound of someone trying to catch her breath when it hitched in her throat and chest.

Well, shit.

He took a hesitant step toward her door, unsure whether to knock or to just go in. He reached for the knob, his hand hesitating in midair. The sound of the soft crying stopped immediately, and he heard nothing but silence.

He withdrew his hand and stepped back from the door. _Best to just give her the night, _he thought. He hated to admit to himself that he needed to render some sort of an apology in the morning. But he didn't want her sulking around the place, and moreover, he didn't want her thinking that if anything ever happened again that was dangerous to her, that he'd stand by and let it happen.

He wouldn't.

He headed into his own room and shut the door, left to his guilt and his annoyance at himself for the night.

* * *

Mia held her breath as she heard footsteps outside her door. For a horrible moment she was afraid that Forrest was actually going to try to enter her room – he must have heard her crying, despite the fact that she was trying hard to keep it quiet. She didn't want to speak to him, and she certainly didn't want him to come and see her. It would spoil her little plan.

She was going back home.

After crying for an hour, she had decided that there was no reason at all why she should continue to endure a place like this, that had nothing to offer her, that had mostly unkind people and where she just simply didn't belong. So, she had packed most of her things in one suitcase, things she refused to leave behind. Undergarments, jewelry, the little money she had brought with her. Her other things – extra clothes, pocketbooks, hats, scarves, gloves, extra shoes – she left in her other suitcase, which she was leaving behind.

As an afterthought, she removed a bottle of Jean Patou's Joy from the suitcase she meant to leave behind and tossed it in the one she was taking. It was expensive, and it was her favorite, and smelling it on herself made her feel better.

She dimly heard Forrest open and close his bedroom door and she waited for a little bit, allowing him time to get settled down for the night. After what she thought was an appropriate amount of time, she crept to the window, pushing it open. She peered down. Her room was just above the wooden patio awning, the ground about nine feet below that. She could toss her suitcase to the ground below and then, very, very carefully, step out onto the awning and then lower herself down. She certainly couldn't go down the stairs and out the front door – he would be sure to hear her, and he would be sure to scold her like a naughty child and drag her back upstairs and lock her back in her room. He was a lousy enough bastard to try it, since he'd made it clear he wasn't all that concerned with her well-being.

She leaned out and tried to give her suitcase as gentle a drop as possible, but still cringed when she heard it thud heavily on the ground below. Still, it was a muted sound, one that Forrest was not likely to hear from his room. The biggest risk in the action was her bottle of Joy breaking and soaking all of her clothes.

Next, she sat on the windowsill and pulled off her shoes, sending them down after her suitcase. Then she gathered her dress and swung her legs out, her bare feet feeling the rough wooden awning underneath. She held onto the windowsill and eased her body out, trying to test her weight to see if the awning would hold her. It creaked a little but she didn't immediately fall through, so she sat down and scooted to the edge as slowly as possible. She gripped the edge and then carefully lowered her legs over the edge until the dangled, her arms shaking from the effort. She still had about a three-and-a-half foot drop to negotiate from where her feet dangled, so she took a deep breath and let go.

"_Oof_," she grunted when her bottom hit the earth. She got to her feet and dusted her dress off in vain – it was too dark to see if it was dirty. She struggled into her shoes, swept up her suitcase, and hurried away from the station, toward the road. It was a very long walk to the depot – nearly ten miles, in fact – but walk it she would.

Then, she was on a train back to Chicago, Forrest and Al both be damned, and she was back to her normal life.

She was almost off Blackwater property when the light of a small flame in the distance drew her gaze. In the darkness, through a small copse of trees, she saw three men gathered near a shed. Then she realized it was the Bondurants' storage shed – where they kept all their liquor. And the three men looked nothing like the Bondurants anyway, and besides – she knew Forrest was in his room, not outside.

_Thieves, _she realized. _They're trying to steal it. _

She could have kept walking – they'd never even noticed that she was close by. She could have hurried down the road in the darkness in the general direction of the depot, leaving Blackwater Station and the Bondurant brothers and whoever these three men were and Franklin County behind forever.

But as she watched them pull jar after jar after jar out of the shed, and then pull crate after crate, she got mad. She was still angry and hurt at Forrest, but she knew how hard he and Howard and Jack and even Cricket worked to make their product, and she knew just how much was in that shed – it was nearly half of the order they were preparing for Al. And she also knew how much money that meant for both sides. And if they got robbed, then that meant that Al was out the money, too.

And that made her madder.

Without another thought, she pushed through the trees toward them. "_Hey! _Just what do you think you're doing?_"_

Three heads snapped toward her at the sound of her loud, angry shout. For a moment she took in the looks of shock and fear on their faces. And then almost simultaneously, the looks on their faces faded and dread grew in her belly.

The looks on their faces now showed plainly that they had realized she was nothing but a small woman, and she realized that one of those men was Pete – the drunk bastard who had manhandled her tonight.

_Oh, no, Mia, what have you done? _she thought, in a rare moment of regret. _You're still on Bondurant property, _she reminded herself, taking a deep breath and willing her heart to slow. _They wouldn't dare. Don't let them see you're intimidated. _

"What have we here?" Pete murmured, stepping toward her. His jaw was swollen and his speech slurred. "Well, well, well. If it ain't the little uppity wop bitch herself."

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't hear you properly," Mia said coolly, backing up a step. "Perhaps you'd like Mr. Bondurant to rearrange your face back to the way it was so you can speak clearly."

Suddenly a pair of arms grabbed her from behind and she gasped. There was a fourth man – how had she missed him?

"Mr. Bondurant ain't around," the man hissed in her ear. "Looks like you're all done for, kid."

"What'd I tell you about runnin' your mouth to grown men," Pete slurred. "Matthias, take her behind the shed. And cover her mouth."

A heavy, dirty, stinking hand clapped over her mouth and she was hauled off her feet. She screamed into the hand and thrashed like mad, trying to free herself of the vise-like grip that held her. A wave of vertigo washed over her and she grew dizzy when she was yanked off her feet and carried over to the shed. She heard jars rattle inside when she was slammed against one wooden wall, her head cracking against the wood so hard she saw stars. She reached up to claw the hand at her face and then her wrists were grabbed in someone else's hand and yanked over her head. She was completely immobile, completely out of control, and she was terrified.

Pete leaned in her face and she could smell the sour stench of alcohol on his breath and oozing out of his pores. "Tried to warn you, little lady," he whispered. "But you didn't listen."

"Teach her how to play nice, Pete," the man who had a hand over her mouth said with a laugh.

She heard the seams in the slim skirt of her dress rip as it was yanked up over her hips. Mia screamed into the hand again, trying to kick, trying to do anything to get out of the iron clutches that held her. Her knee connected with Pete's groin and he groaned in pain. Immediately, Mia felt pain burst on her cheek and her head snapped to the side as he struck her fast as a rattlesnake in return.

"Try that again and I'll kill ya," he said through gritted teeth.

Hot tears oozed out of her eyes unbidden when she felt his huge, rough hand between her thighs. Her bloomers were yanked down slightly and she almost fainted when thick fingers rubbed against her femininity.

_Don't you faint, you little coward. No one touches you this way. Fight. Fight for all you're worth. _

She gnashed her teeth and bit down first on a fleshy palm and then a finger, bit hard and savagely. The hand on her face was jerked away with a yelp of pain, which caused Pete to stop what he was doing momentarily, and the hands that held her wrists to slacken their grip enough for her to pull free. She was not quite fast enough, because Pete managed to snatch at her waist and she toppled over with him. She crawled frantically away, panicking when she felt his hand close around her ankle. A few inches away, she saw a rock the size of her hand and grabbed it, then turned and threw it hard at his head. Being that he was only a few feet from her, the rock hit its mark with deadly accuracy and he bellowed in pain, releasing her, and she got to her feet, running away. She heard footsteps behind her – one of them was chasing her. She kept running, tears blurring her vision in the dark. She tried to rub her eyes as she ran, but found that the action slowed her down, so she just kept running, blindly.

_Maybe I'll crash into a tree, _she thought desperately. _Then it'll knock me out and I'll be unconscious during whatever horrible things they have planned for me…_

"_Oof!"_

She did smack into something, but it wasn't a tree. It was a very solid human body. _They've found me, somehow, _she thought, opening her mouth to scream in fright when warm hands came to her arms. _I must have run in a circle. Now I'm really done for –_

"Whoa, there, now," a familiar deep voice said quietly as the warm hands tightened on her arms as she thrashed violently to get away. "Hush, now, Mia. Just hush. It's all right."

The smell of tobacco laced with vanilla and cinnamon washed over her and she thought for one horrible moment she would burst into tears of relief like a child.

"F-Forrest?" she stammered, her body shaking uncontrollably. "Forrest?"

"'S'me. And Howard and Jack. Heard you hollerin' a little bit ago." He was still speaking quietly, but his hands had started to slowly rub her arms in a manner that Mia would have found, had she been in her right mind and noticing such things, downright soothing.

"They're after me," she babbled, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "They attacked me and I got away and now –"

"Shh," he whispered, and then he was pushing her gently into someone else's arms. "Shh, now, Mia. Howard – you hear that?"

"Hear 'em comin'," she heard Howard say grimly, then jumped when she heard the unmistakable sound of a rifle being cocked. "Hear those bastards a-comin'. Why, yes, I do."

"It's all right, now," Jack was saying to her, his arms around her in a comforting hug. "You don't need to worry one hair on your pretty head, Miss Mia. You want my handkerchief?" He fumbled the rag out of his pocket and brought it to her face. "You're cryin' somethin' awful. You must be scared to death."

"I'm _not_ crying," Mia said stubbornly, and she thought she heard Howard chuckle at her over his shoulder. She mopped at her face. "And I'm not – I'm not scared." Just then she heard familiar voices, horrible voices, from before by the shed and her skin crawled.

"—musta gone this-a-way," she heard one of the men say. "Little bitch can move fast in the dark, cain't she?"

"I ain't leavin' without all the 'shine and without that little goddamn wop-whore," she heard another voice say, the words jumbled, and she knew it must be Pete. Goose pimples broke out over her skin as a cold shiver went over her, and she found herself curling into Jack unconsciously, and he patted her shoulder.

Just then, the area lit up with warm, bright glowing light. Forrest hefted a freshly lit lantern in the air, illuminating four men walking up to them. They all stopped in their tracks, blinking.

"Evenin', gentlemen," Forrest said calmly. He pulled a revolver from his back and pointed it at them as Howard lifted his shotgun.

"'Scuse me, Miss Mia," Jack said into her ear and stepped away from her, pulling his own pistol out and aiming as he took his place next to his brothers. She looked nervously over her shoulder to make sure nothing was behind her and hugged herself, shaking. She wished Jack was still beside her, because his warmth and his strength gave her courage. Now that she was standing alone, she felt horribly frightened again, as if something would sneak up behind her and grab her. _Like what happened a little while ago._

"What have we here?" Howard called almost jovially. "Seems like you peckerwoods were tryin' to rob us just now, weren't ya?"

"Apparently me breakin' your face wasn't instruction enough to keep away from here," Forrest said to Pete. "Apparently you thought you could come and take what's mine."

Mia glanced up sharply and stared at his back. _Take what's mine. _Somehow, she got the idea that he was referring to more than just the booze, and it made a shiver of heat go through her, unbidden.

"Ain't did no such thing," Pete said. "We just come back to see if we could smooth things over, that's all."

"Oh?" Forrest said. "And you thought by breakin' into my shed and tryin' to rape this woman was a good way to do that?"

"Forrest, I –" Before Pete could finish his sentence, Forrest took aim and fired. Mia froze in shock. _He just shot that man. _

There was a beat of silence, and then Pete howled like a wolf and grabbed his foot, hopping around until he toppled over. Forrest lowered the gun until it was level with his head.

"That was another warnin'," he said. "Don't make me have to kill you, Pete. Get your ass off my land. You're a dead man, I see you 'round here again. All of you. And I can't mean that any plainer."

One of the men must have tried something, maybe a lunge, because Mia saw Jack suddenly whip his pistol toward one of them. "Don't you even think about it," he said. "Put one through your eye, boy, you try some shit like that again."

"Enough of this shit," Howard growled, and then he swung the rifle like a baseball bat against the head of the nearest man. He crumpled to the ground silently. Howard pointed to the unconscious man and to Pete, who was still gripping his foot, hands covered in glistening wet blood and panting harshly.

"You two, get them off this land or I'll bury all four of you alive," Howard barked. "Blow your heads clean off, I swear I will."

Mia heard shuffling noises and tried to peer between the brothers to see what was happening. Had she not been so shaken up, the sight of two men trying to frantically drag two other men through the woods was almost comical.

"Jack, take the lady into the station," Forrest said over his shoulder. "Me and Howard are going to sweep these woods and make sure they're gone, and check on the shed."

Jack stuck his pistol in the waistband of his pants and turned around. "C'mon, honey," he said, putting his arm around her again. "Jeepers, you're shaking."

"I am not, either," she said childishly, and looked over her shoulder. "Are they going to be all right?"

"Just fine," Jack said firmly. "Well, I promised you a sample of our fine apple brandy, and tonight you're going to have it, Miss Mia. You need you a drink to calm your nerves."

She said nothing as he helped her along. He handed her carefully up the porch stairs of the station and inside, where it was lit with a few lamps. He made her sit down at the table while he went to get a couple of glasses and a bottle.

Mia looked down and saw she was completely dirty, with scratches and bruises on her arms. The seams on the narrow skirt of her dress were torn from where it had been yanked up over her hips, and she tried to hold both sets of busted seams together, because her garters and stockings were visible through the rips. She pulled leaves and some small twigs out of her thick, wavy dark hair, which was coming out of the knot at the back of her neck, making a face. Then she winced; the left side of her face throbbed with a dull ache and she realized she'd almost forgotten that Pete had slugged her. _I must look like a complete mess, _she thought with a sigh.

"Here." Jack came back to the table, sitting down beside her, and plunked down a glass. He poured out a mouthful of amber liquid and pushed it toward her. "Go on, now. Get you a drink, Miss Mia."

She reached for the glass, annoyed to see her hand was shaking, and brought it to her lips. It was nothing like the moonshine, no sharp, peppery scent that immediately made her eyes water. It smelled slightly fruity and when she took the swallow of brandy it warmed her mouth, then her throat, then her chest and her belly. It stung her throat a little, but nothing was as bad as that moonshine. She gulped it down and set her glass before him.

"Another, please," she said, and he smiled and poured more.

After three more drinks she felt a little bit calmer. Jack got up to gather some ice chips from the icebox and put them in a small towel. He brought it back and made her hold it to the side of her face. He looked mad.

"Can't believe that bastard actually hit you," he grumbled. "Men hittin' women. Can't stand no such thing."

Mia smiled despite the pain in her face. "You're such a gentleman," she told him, reaching out to pat his hand. "Bertha will be lucky to have you."

"Aw, shucks," he said, flushing. "Shoot. I'm mighty flattered you think so, Miss Mia, but if Bertha knew what happened here – if her daddy knew – they'd still think me no-count and nothin' but trouble."

"You came to the rescue of a woman," Mia told him, then sighed ruefully. "A woman whose mouth and pride are too big for her own good sometimes, I guess." She looked down at her lap.

"What was you doin' outside at this hour of the night, anyhow?" Jack asked. "Franklin is a small town that's generally safe, Miss Mia, but we get lots of transients passin' through the area on account of the Depression. Lotsa men come in and outta town, lookin' for work and passin' on. Sometimes there's work, sometimes there ain't, and there ain't no tellin' who you coulda encountered tonight. It just ain't safe for you to be outside, Miss Mia. You shoulda been sleepin' in your bed."

Mia's first instinct was to lie, but then she realized there was no lie she could tell that wouldn't be completely ridiculous and unbelievable, so she sighed and decided to tell the truth. "I was – well, Jack, I was planning on going to the train depot. To go back home."

"You was gonna _walk_?" Jack said. "Miss Mia, it's ten miles to the depot. And go back home? Whatever for? Mr. Capone, he sent you to us to keep you safe from the dangers in Chicago. You can't just be up and goin' back there. And to walk that far alone in the middle of the night – I, well, Miss Mia, meanin' no disrespect, but are you plumb outta your mind?"

"I just," Mia began, then stopped and cursed herself when she heard her own voice waver. She cleared her throat, which had a lump in it. "I'm just very homesick, Jack," she said softly. "And – well, I like you very much. I think you're the sweetest boy I've ever met. And I have fun with you and Cricket, and I like your brother Howard very well, too. But this town, and its people, just don't suit me. And – and –" She shut her mouth with a snap. _And your brother Forrest._

Jack looked at her sympathetically. "I'm real sorry, Miss Mia. You look awful sad. I'm sorry about everyone, and I'm sorry it's so different here from your home." He patted her hand, then smiled a little. "And I'm sorry Forrest can be such a bastard sometimes."

She looked up at him. "I didn't say anything about him."

Jack shrugged. "Don't got to. I got eyes and ears. I know you two been goin' at it like cats and dogs lately. And I know he can be difficult. Sometimes he says things without meanin' to. He's a little difficult and none of us ain't ever met a gal as spirited as you. Forrest is just the opposite. He's quiet, serious. Set in his ways. He can be a hard man to read sometimes, but he ain't bad. He was the one come up to the house tonight, sayin' you was gone and he heard yellin' and for us to come quick. He was right worried about you."

Normally, she would have made some sort of sarcastic reply to that, but Mia only sat there looking at him, the warm buzz from four consecutive shots of hard liquor covering her insides and making her sleepy.

Jack got up and gathered their glasses, then extended a hand. "You best get some rest, Miss Mia," he said.

"Oh, but they're not back yet," she said. "And I don't – well, that is, the station is so empty, and –" _Don't be such a coward. _

Jack smiled at her. "Oh, I won't leave, Miss Mia. Not 'til they get back. Don't you worry. I'll stay right down here and make sure no one comes in or out that ain't supposed to. But you need to get your rest."

He helped her upstairs and checked both rooms and the bath room thoroughly, then held her door open for her.

Mia paused in the doorway and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she said into his shoulder. "For being so kind to me. I hope I can repay you one day."

His hand patted her back lightly. "Don't you fret none," he said gently. "It'll all come out in the wash. Now, get some sleep and I'll see you in the mornin'."

He closed her door, and she heard the dull thump of his shoes on the wooden stairs as he descended back down to the kitchen. She peeled off her sadly torn dress and found a simple cotton shift to sleep in. Then she realized her other suitcase was somewhere out in the woods and sighed. She supposed she could go look for it tomorrow, and hoped it hadn't already been stolen.

She had just settled into bed, the covers pulled up to her head, when she heard a light knock on her door. She figured it was Jack again and wrapped the quilt around her shoulders as she went to the door. When she opened it, her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh – hello," she said lamely, looking up at Forrest. "Did – did everything go all right?"

"Yes. It's fine. No need for you to worry," he replied, looking at her hard from under the brim of his hat. "I found your suitcase. Thought you might be wantin' it. Can I bring it in?"

Mia stood to the side and watched as he walked into the room and set the suitcase down. Then he turned around, sweeping his hat off his head and holding it to his chest. His handsome brow was creased as he looked at her. "You, umm, you all right?"

It seemed as if the question shattered the last of her nerves as she stared back at him. Then, her knees buckled slightly and she would have fallen over and made quite a fool out of herself if he hadn't deftly stepped forward and caught her, pulling her close to his body.

"Here, let's sit down," he said almost gently. He led her over to the bed and she sat down abruptly. "Is that better?"

"I'm fine," she said shakily, squeezing her knees together to keep them from knocking. She wrapped her arms around her body, pulling the quilt tighter. She felt his eyes on her as she looked down at her lap. "Why are you staring at me?"

"No one would think poorly of you for bein' frightened," Forrest said quietly, sitting down on the bed beside her. "You were attacked by four men, after all."

"I'm not frightened," Mia said, weakly stubborn.

He actually chuckled softly, once, and she looked at him in surprise. "As you say."

She looked back down at her lap. "Thank you," she said. "For being there at the right time. I don't know what would have happened if you and your brothers hadn't shown up when you did."

"They woulda raped you," Forrest told her matter-of-factly. "That's what woulda happened. They touch you, they hurt you?"

Mia recalled Pete's hand between her thighs and shuddered involuntarily. "I'm fine."

She felt his fingers take hold of her chin and guide her face toward his. She looked at him in surprise again. His brow was creased as he looked into her eyes.

"Do me a favor and stop sayin' that you're fine," he said. "You and I both know that's a load-a shit. You're scared to death, and any woman in your place would be. You – you ain't got to hide from me. Now, tell me true. Did they hurt you?"

Mia looked into his eyes, gazing at her steadily, and understood intrinsically that if they had, he would have gotten up without another word, hunted them down, and killed them. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. Then she touched the hurt side of her face gingerly. "Not like that, anyway."

Forrest's fingers moved from her chin to her cheekbone, grazing her there very lightly before he dropped his hand and looked down at his lap. Mia studied his face, remembered how relieved she'd felt when she realized it was him she'd run into, how his warms hands had stroked her arms, how gentle his voice had been when he'd spoken to her. How close he was now, and how – _safe_ she felt.

"I'm sorry," she blurted suddenly. "I'm sorry for cooking the spaghetti."

He glanced over at her. Then he sighed. "Ain't no need to apologize for that," he said quietly. "Truth be told, it's pretty damned tasty. And aside from callin' us hicks, you really didn't do anythin' wrong. It ain't your fault these men are so stuck in their ways they won't ever try anything new."

Mia covered her mouth to hide a little smile at his words. _If that's not the pot calling the kettle black…_

"Anyway," he went on. "I really should be the one to apologize. I said some right mean things to you earlier tonight, some hurtful things, and I'm sorry for that. I wanted to speak to you tonight, but thought it best to give you to the mornin'. Then I heard you scream from outside, and I knew you were in trouble. I figured that it might be Pete again – he's a stubborn, lousy son of a bitch. And I – I want you to know, Mia, that I wouldn't really let nothin' happen to you. I hope you believe that."

She could hardly believe her ears. "I believe you," she whispered.

"Jack told me what you was even doin' outside to begin with," Forrest continued, looking away. "Said that you was plannin' on runnin' back for home. And I couldn't help but feel a mite guilty about your predicament tonight. I s'pose I ain't really been all too welcomin', either."

"Forrest, look at me," Mia said gently. He turned his head slowly toward her, and their gazes locked. Suddenly whatever she intended to say disappeared from her brain as she lost herself in his smoky gaze. She took in the slight crease of his brow and his perfectly shaped, stream-lined nose. His full lips were puckered slightly, as though he were worried. His eyes shifted back and forth between hers, and then finally fell to her lips.

She couldn't help herself and lifted her hand tentatively, slowly. She reached up and her fingertips lightly brushed his stubbly cheek. Then, she rested her palm there, watching as his eyes closed and he seemed to lean into her touch.

Then he opened his eyes and found her gaze again. He reached up and very lightly took her wrist, gently pulling it away from his face and placing it in her lap.

"You best get some rest," he said quietly, rising from her bed. "See you in the mornin'."

He was gone from her room so fast that for a moment Mia wasn't sure whether his presence had been reality or a dream.

Except that she could still smell his scent, and feel the warmth of his cheek on her hand.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Weekend treat for you lovelies! A somewhat fluffy chapter here with some Mary Lou-ness and some Howardness. Mia even makes a new friend! Sort of. Anyway, we're gearing up for the next little arc which should happen in the next chapter I think. Thank you for the reviews on the last two new chapters! They made my heart go pitterpatter.**

**For you girly girls, I found this website called glamour daze dot com (all one word) where it takes you through all the beauty and fashion trends of the decades. REALLY interesting. **

**What do you think of the new cover art? It hints (broadly) at a new look Mia will soon have...**

**Read, enjoy and please leave a review. Thanks!**

**Chapter 11**

Mia slept fitfully that night, her dreams haunted by visions of hulking men pinning her down and tearing her to pieces. When she finally did fall asleep, the first rays of sun were lighting the horizon, turning it from black velvet to deep blue.

_I must get up soon, _she thought tiredly, her eyelids falling shut. _Just a few moments of rest, and I'll be up._

Sometime later she woke with a start, and with a sinking heart saw that the sun was high in the sky. "Oh, God," she groaned, throwing back her quilt and hurrying out of bed. She went to the wash basin on her dresser and splashed cool water on her face, peering at herself in the mirror. She winced; her left cheekbone was speckled in dark angry red, blue and purple. She did her best to use her makeup to cover it up, but there was no amount of powder that could conceal it. She frowned at herself in the mirror, and added extra pale purple eye shadow that made her brown eyes sparkle and plenty of mascara to her lashes to make herself feel better about the way she looked. Her hair was a snarled, tangled mess, and she pulled a brush through the heavy, thick waves as patiently as she could. She drew the upper half back out of her eyes, leaving the rest down, and frantically stuck pins in place.

_Hurry, hurry, hurry, _she chanted to herself, casting about for something to wear. She slipped on a pale yellow, sheer long-sleeved blouse that had a tiny, charming pale pink and green floral print and a light gray paneled skirt that skimmed her hips. She struggled into a pair of black pumps and then yanked open her door. She raced down the stairs, jumping the last three and hurried into the kitchen.

Then she blinked in surprise. The dining room was empty.

She glanced at the old grandfather clock against the wall and saw that while she had grossly overslept, it was still only a quarter past nine. Usually the last stragglers left around ten.

Jack was drying dishes at the sink and looked up with a smile. He noticed her face, winced, and glanced away. "Mornin', Miss Mia," he said. "You sleep well?"

"Jack, I'm so sorry," she breathed, rushing toward him. "I didn't mean to oversleep. I actually woke before dawn, but I was so tired, I thought I would just shut my eyes for a few more minutes…"

He held up a hand. "Not to worry, Miss Mia. Forrest said to let you be this mornin' until you wanted to wake. I don't think he has much in the way planned for you today."

Mia was surprised at Forrest's consideration. Then she waved a hand. "Don't be silly," she said firmly. "I'm quite all right. There are things around here that need to be done, isn't that right? And I'm sure you have other things to do rather than tend to women's work." She stepped up to the sink and took the towel out of his hands. "I can finish these. Then I'll sweep and wipe the tables down." She glanced around the empty room again. "If there are any that need wiping down…where is everyone?"

Jack smiled and shrugged a shoulder. "I think maybe everyone's a little scared of Forrest this mornin'," he said with a chuckle. "Word travels pretty fast about things around here." He winked.

"Oh," Mia said, blinking.

"If you're sure about workin' today, I could go tend to the barn," Jack said slowly, shrugging. "But only if you're sure."

"I'm sure," Mia said. "Please. Go." She shooed him out of the station.

When he'd gone, she finished drying the dishes and put them all away, then wiped off the few tables that had actually been used. She swept the floors and dusted, and then took a piece of paper and a pencil into the pantry to take stock of their supplies and make a grocery list. She planned to call in her grocery order this afternoon for pick-up in a few days' time.

There was a knock on the front door and Mia went to answer it curiously. A woman was on the front porch, holding a large basket. She eyed Mia openly when she opened the screen door.

"Good morning," Mia said. "How can I help you?"

"Bringin' Mr. Bond'rant's bread," the woman said shortly. "Like I do every week. He around?"

The woman's clipped, brusque tone took Mia by surprise and she felt her face flush with annoyance. She remembered just why she wanted to leave last night. She folded her arms. "I'm afraid he's out at the moment. But I can see that the bread gets placed neatly on our pantry shelves." She tilted her head down slightly and met the woman stare for stare.

The woman was probably in her late thirties or early forties, and wore a plain blue cotton dress, her blonde tresses pulled back in a messy knot. She wore flats and had a little dirt smudged on her cheeks and arms, as though she'd had to walk a distance to reach the station. Her blue eyes took Mia in from head to toe in a slow, sweeping glance full of contempt.

"Perhaps I'd better come back when Mr. Bond'rant's around," the woman said, tossing her head a little. "He knows our agreement."

"Let me guess," Mia said, unable to keep a note of sarcasm out of her voice. "You bake the bread and bring it over, and he pays you for it. Is that about the long and short of it, or is it even less complicated?"

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"Why don't you just tell me how much it is he pays you for your bread and we'll be all square?" Mia went on, standing back to allow the woman inside. "I'll even pour you a cup of coffee."

The woman eyed her suspiciously, then sighed and walked through the door. "I s'pose I did walk a pretty piece to get here. Coffee would be pleasant hospitality."

"Then have a seat and take a load off." Mia went behind the counter as the woman set her basket down and took a seat at the bar. She pulled down a china cup and saucer and placed them in front of the woman, then grabbed the coffeepot and poured out a cup, giving the woman a pointed stare. "Cream? Sugar?"

"No," the woman said. Then she glanced down. "Thank you. Ma'am."

"Miss," Mia corrected. "Now. What's your name?"

"I'm Mrs. Rose McByrne," the woman said. She made no move to extend her hand in the universal polite gesture of greeting and Mia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. _Must I do everything?_

She held out her hand. "I'm Mia Angela Scalise."

The woman took her hand warily and gave it a little shake. "You ain't from around here." It almost sounded like an accusation.

"I'm not," Mia said. "I'm from Chicago."

"What's a fancy big-city gal like you doin' in a place like this?" Rose demanded. "And how come you know the Bond'rants?"

"They're…friends of the family," Mia said coolly. "I needed a change of scenery."

"Hmm." Rose sipped her coffee, her eyes going over Mia again. "Ain't you afraid of gettin' all them pretty high-fashion clothes dirty? Enough dust to choke an elephant, and when it rains the mud's so thick you're like to get your feet stuck in it."

"If they get dirty, I'll wash them," Mia replied, a little bite to her words. _What is it about my clothes, anyhow? _"Unless it's customary out here in the sticks to go around with dirty clothes all day long?"

"We're poor," Rose said, an angry, proud glint in her eye. "But we ain't filthy pigs."

_This is going downhill fast. _Mia braced her arms on the bar. "So how much for a loaf?"

"I bring Mr. Bond'rant eight loaves a week," Rose said. "Every week. And he pays me ten cents a loaf."

_Hmm. _Mia knew that a loaf of bread didn't cost as much as ten cents even in _Chicago _– it would seem that Forrest was trying to help this woman by giving her a little extra. There was no other explanation, not for a man as frugal as he was. Somehow, the fact that he was paying her more than necessary made her feel a little admiration for him.

"Eighty cents, coming up." Mia walked out from behind the bar, and hesitated. _Where does Forrest keep his money?_

Rose turned to watch her. "He usually goes into his office, then come back out with my fee."

"I know," Mia shot back, then walked into his office. There wasn't a cash box or anything out in plain sight on his desk. She reached for a drawer, and all she found was a five-dollar note amid some pencils and scraps of paper. She debated for a moment, looking at the bill, then shrugged. She took the note out to the woman and handed it over, watching as Rose's eyes bugged out wide at the sight of the money.

"This is five dollars," she said unnecessarily.

Mia shrugged. "I can see that."

"This is far too much. Mr. Bond'rant usually just give me one dollar, my weekly fee plus a little extra for my troubles."

"Well," Mia said. "Consider that a month's fee up front plus a lot extra for your troubles."

"I –" Rose stopped and swallowed. "Make sure Mr. Bond'rant knows he ain't gotta pay me for the rest of the month. I don't 'spect he would do this if he were here."

"Mr. Bondurant has given me personal control over his finances when he's not here," Mia lied with a smile. "So, please. Take the money and let's call it square."

"The extra money don't exactly make it square," Rose said slowly, placing her basket on the table. "Maybe I could bring by some more loaves, or some cookies or somethin'."

"I'm sure that would be fine, but you needn't trouble yourself," Mia said. Then, something came to her and she snapped her fingers. "Although, if you really do feel the need to repay the tip, there is something you can help me with…"

Ten minutes later, she was up to her elbows in flour with a soft, spongy, fat mass in front of her. She pushed her hands into the mass of dough to mix in all of the ingredients.

"Okay, now," Rose said from Mia's side, where she was watching carefully. "Don't overmix that dough, now. You say your biscuits come out flat? That's why, dear. You want to just incorporate everything together but if you overmix they don't stay fluffy."

"Oh," Mia said. "So this is the correct consistency?"

Rose reached out and poked a finger into the dough. Her finger went in easily, as the dough yielded. "Yes. Now, fold it together like this."

She took the dough from Mia and pushed it out into a rough rectangle shape. Then she brought the short sides in toward the middle on top of each other, flipped the mass over, and repeated the action. Then she gestured to Mia. "Three times is all you need. Now you try."

Mia pushed it out into a rectangle and folded in the sides and then flipped it over. She looked at Rose expectantly.

"So, you got your oven nice and hot. You got your skillet greased. You got a water glass?"

Mia looked at her curiously, but went and fetched a water glass from the cupboard and handed it over. Rose turned it upside down and used the rim to cut out a round biscuit. She pushed in the glass and pulled it straight out.

"No twisting," Rose said. "That makes the edges uneven. Now, you just cut these out and load 'em in the skillets. And always remember – cold everything. Right?"

"Flour, butter and buttermilk go into the icebox until they are cold," Mia recited. "And until I'm ready to knead I shouldn't touch the dough because my hands can melt the butter."

"Good girl," Rose said with a brusque nod. "Now, get this first pan into the oven and I'll have me another cup of coffee in the meantime until they're all baked up and we can see how they turned out."

Mia cut out the rest of the biscuits using Rose's method and shoved them into the skillet. She carried it over to the oven and pushed it in, feeling a wave of heat make her face flush. She turned and wiped her hands on her apron and poured Rose another cup of coffee and one for herself.

"Thank you," Mia said after a moment of silence. "For your help. I – well, I don't know much about your style of cooking down here and – and I really want to learn."

Rose almost but not quite smiled at her over the rim of her coffee cup. "That's the first step, I s'pose," she said. "Listen. I'll write down some of my recipes for bread and biscuits and cookies and such and leave it with Mrs. Burkett at the general store. When you go for your groceries in a few days you can pick them up there."

Mia smiled. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

They sipped their coffee in silence until the timer next to the oven went off. The warm, buttery scent of biscuits filled the air and Mia turned hopefully, grabbing a couple thick towels as she hurried to the oven. She pulled open the door and squealed in delight at what she saw; a pan of fat, fluffy, golden brown biscuits, baked to perfection.

She carefully grabbed the handle using the towels and carried it over to the counter. She sniffed deeply and met Rose's smile. The older woman winked.

"Well, might as well cut one out and open it up, since it's warm," she said.

Mia used a knife to cut out a biscuit and set it on a small plate. It was at least an inch thick, golden brown on top and creamy white on the sides, with another golden brown crust on the bottom. She split it in half and steam rose as the two soft, fluffy halves split apart. She spread on some softened butter and handed one half to Rose.

They each took a bite, and Mia's eyes closed in satisfaction. Even without the butter, the biscuit was moist and fluffy, with a lovely crunch from the bottom of the skillet. It practically melted in her mouth and she decided she would have another with jam later on.

"This," Rose said, "is how a southern biscuit ought to taste, Miss. Don't you forget what I told you and your biscuits will come out like this every single time." She daintily finished her half with relish. "Once you bake 'em, if you keep 'em in your pantry covered up they'll stay fresh for a couple of days. So you can make two days' worth ahead of time."

"Thank you," Mia said sincerely. She smiled triumphantly. "I feel – accomplished now."

"These turned out very nice," Rose said with a nod. "And the good thing about these is you can have them anytime. With breakfast, you can make sandwiches for lunch if you like and serve them with dinner. They're lovely with everything from roast chicken and taters to a nice thick beef stew."

_Probably not with spaghetti and meatballs, _Mia thought, and swallowed a giggle.

She saw Rose to the door and handed her the empty bread basket she'd brought with her. After a moment of hesitation, the woman turned and held out her hand for a shake. "Thank you, Miss Mia," she said. "I appreciate you goin' above and beyond to pay me for my services. That was – right kind of you to let me walk out of here with this much money."

"It was my pleasure," Mia replied. "Thank you for the baking lesson. You've just made about thirty men very happy."

Rose allowed one small, tight smile to cross her lips. "Good luck."

Mia baked the rest of her dough, and each pan came out looking like the first. She stacked the loaves of bread on the shelf in the pantry, and when she came back out, Jack was walking through the door.

"I thought I smelled me somethin' nice," he said, staring at the piles of biscuits in a napkin-lined basket Mia had arranged. "Miss Mia, you bake those?"

Mia smiled and handed him a biscuit. "Why, yes, I did, Jackie. Have one."

"Oh, thank you," he said, smiling. He took a ravenous bite, closing his eyes as he chewed enthusiastically. He swallowed and took another enormous bite, shaking his head. "Miss Mia," he said, spraying crumbs everywhere, "these are right delicious."

"Jack, I just swept," Mia said good-naturedly as she gave him a little push. "Go finish that over the sink."

"Yes'm," Jack said with a grin. He chomped down the rest of the biscuit and reached for another. "How'd you do this?"

Mia thought of her strange, new, chilly acquaintance and smiled. "A friend helped me."

* * *

Late that afternoon, Forrest stopped at the general store on the way home from the still. They were still not quite ready to jar, but the time for that was getting closer, and he was pleased. This time next week, the first of this batch of moonshine for Al Capone's order should be jarred and crated and stored in the shed – once they fixed the lock.

The matter of the broken lock on the shed was what brought him to the general store. Pete and his cronies had really done a number on the lock, Forrest had noted wryly as he examined the area this morning. Then again, the damned thing was probably a hundred years old, rusty as hell and probably hadn't worked right to start with. It had been pure laziness on his part that kept him using it, and now he knew better.

He swept his hat off his head as he entered the store. Mrs. Burkett, old Mary Lou, was checking figures in her ledger when he walked in, and she glanced up at him over her spectacles when she heard him.

"Afternoon, Forrest," she called.

"Afternoon, ma'am," he replied politely, approaching the counter.

"What can I do you for today?" she asked. "Your gal called earlier with her grocery order, but I wasn't expectin' to have it ready for her until a few days' time."

"Oh, no, ma'am," Forrest said. "No, I ain't here for groceries. I'm hopin' you got a nice lock, a padlock with a panel and a key that I can purchase from you."

"Padlock and a key, eh?" Mary Lou replied. "Hmm. Yes. I heard y'all had some trouble last night."

"We did, indeed," Forrest said with a sigh. "Got the lock on my shed busted by some thieves. Need a new one."

"Best keep that key on a string around your neck," Mary Lou advised, peering at him sharply. "Why do I get the feelin' that feisty new gal of yours had somethin' to do with it?"

Forrest couldn't help a chuckle. "Probably 'cause the town gossips been knockin' down your door all day, I imagine."

"Be that as it may," Mary Lou said. "Now, she come down and apologize to me like a grown woman should and me and her are square. But, Forrest, I been hearin' around town that she still acts uppity toward some folks, and, well, she sure does draw attention to herself. She's a pretty gal to begin with but she certainly ain't afraid of the kohl and the rouge, let alone them fancy clothes of hers. She looks like trouble with a capital T if you ask me, not that you did."

"She's a spirited girl," Forrest said wryly. "And I suppose she had a least a little hand in the brouhaha yesterday but it really wasn't her fault. And she got the rough end of the stick, too. Caught some fellers I threw out for bein' disrespectful breakin' into my shed, tried to stop 'em, got her dress torn and slugged in the face for her troubles."

"Oh, my!" Mary Lou said disapprovingly. "Now, who in the hell did somethin' like that?"

"Pete," Forrest told her. "Pete Bricketts. Well, I don't 'spect he's gonna be a problem anymore, but I need to replace that lock, just the same."

"Poor little gal," Mary Lou murmured to herself. "Well, I got whatcha need in back. I'll be right up."

Mary Lou hobbled off toward her stock room in the back while Forrest leaned on the counter, glancing around. His eyes fell on a display of lemon lavender drawer sachets. They were – right pretty, he thought, little cloth bundles with floral prints and tied with purple ribbon. He could smell them from here, too, and it was a very pleasant smell.

His gaze fell on a big bucket of wildflower bouquets on the floor. He tilted his head curiously, picking out myrtle and lilies and wild roses. He wondered if someone picked them from a wildwood or if they had been cultivated from a lady's garden.

Mary Lou came back with his padlock, panel and key, setting them on the counter. "Them'll do you?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes ma'am, thank you." As she totaled up his purchase he glanced at the flowers again. They smelled nice, too, and he wondered how they might look back at the station.

"Who brought them wildwood flowers?" he asked.

Mary Lou glanced up. "Oh. Eleanor Whitman. Tryin' to make an extra penny, poor thing. She cut up her entire beautiful garden and then went and picked whatever she could find in the woods."

"Nice bouquets," he commented, glancing at them again.

Mary Lou finished his receipt and held it out. "Well, hell, Forrest," she said impatiently, watching him study the flowers for the umpteenth time. "They ain't gonna git up and grow legs no matter how long you keep starin' at 'em, if that's what you're waitin' on. Why don't you buy a bouquet and take 'em back to that little firecracker you got at the station." She looked at him pointedly over her glasses and then began counting the money for his change from her cash box. "Hell, plain as day to anybody with eyes you want to."

Forrest normally appreciated the directness with which Mary Lou treated all her customers, but this time the tips of his ears went hot. "I wasn't thinkin' no such thing, ma'am. Just thought – just thought they might look nice at the station. For the customers."

"Sure." She waited while he pondered for another moment, then reached down and grabbed a bouquet, sheepishly setting them on the counter. She smiled a little and cut off some ribbon, tying them around the stems.

After the realization that he was already acting like a fool as it was, Forrest reached over and plucked one of the sachets and tossed that down too. "And this, please."

This time Mary Lou did grin. "I reckon that's for the good of the station, too? Them men of yours do seem like the type to appreciate the scents of jasmine, lemon and lavender as well fresh flowers."

Forrest just cleared his throat. "Umm. How much more I owe you?"

"Seventy-five scents more," Mary Lou replied, still smiling. "Y'know," she added. "Sometimes all it takes is a few thoughtful gifts and a nice gesture from a strappin', good-lookin' buck like yourself to make a woman act nicely toward him. You might keep that in mind."

Forrest put on his hat, tipping it, and picked up his purchases. "Thank you, Mary Lou," he said, completely ignoring her statement. "Have yourself a good night."

"You do the same, Forrest, darlin'," she called after him with a laugh.

When he reached the station he could hear the noise from the patrons inside. Good. That meant the supper rush was better than this morning's breakfast rush had been. He made a mental note to ask Jack about the lunch rush as he ascended the porch stairs.

He was surprised to see Mia at the stove when he entered, cooking meat in the skillet. The dining room was not as packed as it usually was at this hour of the night but there was still a decent crowd. He scanned the counter, seeing a basket filled with something and draped with a napkin. There was a big pot of mashed potatoes on the stove along with a saucepan of gravy burbling away.

Mia glanced up at him. "Hi," she said. "Just in time for supper."

"What are we havin'?" he asked, trying to keep a note of suspicion out of his voice.

"Pork chops," Mia replied. "Mashed potatoes. Jack helped me peel them this afternoon. Gravy. And biscuits. Why don't you go sit down, and I'll fix you a plate."

It wasn't a request. Forrest cleared his throat and walked over to the nearest table. He set the flowers and the sachet down on a seat, and Mia walked over and placed a plate in front of him, along with a napkin and a fork and knife. The chop looked good, nice and thick and cooked well. The potatoes looked fluffy and textured, the way he preferred. It looked like that recipe book Jack had found for her was starting to be of some use.

He pointed to the biscuit. "Mrs. McByrne bring those with the bread this mornin'?"

"No," Mia said. "And speaking of. You didn't tell me she was coming by, and you also didn't leave her money set aside. So, I gave her the five dollars from your desk."

He stopped with a forkful of potatoes halfway to his mouth and looked up at her. "You what?" He'd left instruction with Jack, the little shit, along with the dollar he paid Rose McByrne each week. He must have scampered off without saying a word to Mia about it.

Mia shrugged negligently. "It was the only money you had that I could find and it seemed like she walked rather far toting that heavy basket. So I told her to just consider it a month's payment in advance, plus a little extra for a tip."

It sounded reasonable, but Forrest still didn't like the idea that anyone but him had been rooting around in his office. "I guess. Where did the biscuits come from?"

"I made them," Mia replied sassily, giving him a pointed look, and then turned to go tend to her chops in the skillet.

He stared after her, then down at his plate. He'd seen her other biscuits – flat and limp. These were perfect – exactly what a biscuit ought to look like. He could tell simply by how it looked that it would be delicious, unless she somehow forgot the salt or replaced it with sugar. He broke it open and nibbled it, and discovered that it was just as good as it looked. He was impressed. He was halfway through his plate when Howard entered the station. Jack was still nowhere to be found – he was probably out with Cricket somewhere.

"Evenin', folks!" Howard called to the room in general, and the men responded in kind. He plopped down next to Forrest with a smile, reaching for his jar of moonshine, and eyed Forrest's plate. "Well, that looks mighty fine, Brother Forrest. Miss Mia make that?"

Forrest nodded, and Mia reappeared with a plate, napkin and silverware for Howard. "Thank you, sugar," Howard said with a big smile for her. "How you doin' today?"

"Oh, I'm perfectly all right," she replied with an answering smile and a pat to his shoulder. "Thank you for asking. Enjoy your supper."

"I'll enjoy it, _and_ the view," Howard said with a wink, and made a show of moving to sit across from Forrest and subsequently facing the stove.

"Oh, you _flirt,_" Mia exclaimed, then made her own little show of exaggeratedly sashaying toward the stove with her hands on her hips, winking back at him over her shoulder, then bursting out laughing.

Howard laughed and shook his head, tucking into his meal. "She's somethin', that there gal." He was mowing peacefully through his plate until he finally felt the heat of Forrest's stare. "What the hell you lookin' at?"

Forrest glared. "You sure you ain't sweet on Mia? You flirt more'n a teenage boy who just discovered he's got a workin' woody."

Howard stared at him for a beat, then burst out laughing. He laughed so long and so loud that it drew everyone's attention. He waved off his audience, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Shut your dumb ass up," Forrest grumbled. "You sound like a brayin' jackass."

"Oh, that's just rich," Howard said, chuckling. "No, dear little brother. I ain't sweet on Mia. Told you before, I enjoy her company and she seems to enjoy mine. Nah, I know when a claim has been staked. And beyond that you're just jealous she likes me more'n you."

"What damn claim?" Forrest asked irritably. "And jealous of what? Ain't nothin' to be jealous about, not that I even care."

"Oh, don't you?" Howard countered. He grabbed the bouquet off the chair. "So you brought these for little ol' me, didja? Or maybe you brung 'em for Jackie, or Lefty Brown."

Forrest snatched the bouquet back, looking over his shoulder to make sure Mia hadn't seen. She was still cooking at the stove, her back to them. "Get your filthy paws off these flowers," Forrest snapped. "They – I just bought 'em for the station, is all. Now shut up and eat your supper."

Howard grinned and scooped potatoes into his mouth. "Why can't you just admit you're sweet on her?" he said, more quietly. "No one would blame you and it ain't like she finds you despicable. Hell, she smooched you in Chicago. I'm sure she'd do it again."

Forrest thought back to that night in Chicago, and to last night when he'd been with her on her bed, alone, in her room with the door shut, and how she'd touched his face. He knew that if he'd stayed one more second he would have finished what he'd tried to start in her dressing room that night, so long ago. "What the hell you talkin' about?" he muttered, dropping his eyes to his plate.

Howard chuckled. "It amuses me," he said, cutting up his chop, "that a man like you can be so smart and so dumb at the same time."

Forrest glared, but decided to give it up. There was no sense in arguing this foolishness with Howard. They finished their meal in silence, with Howard casting that shit-eating grin at him every so often. Mia came by to take their plates.

"Everything good?" she asked, her tone slightly hopeful.

"Just perfect, little lady," Howard said, wiping his mouth. "Thank you very much. Best meal I've had all day. Almost as fine as your spaghetti from yesterday." He winked.

Forrest saw that she looked very pleased. She looked at him expectantly. He nodded. The meal had been tasty, everything cooked perfectly and to his liking. "Very good," he said briefly.

The way her eyes glowed made him uncomfortable. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm glad you liked it."

He grunted a nonverbal reply and nodded as she swept their dirty plates off to the kitchen. Howard lit up a cigarette and made a show of looking at the bouquet of flowers and the sachet on the chair.

"Ain't gonna last forever, Brother Forrest," he said quietly, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Neither are they gonna walk themselves over to her." He pushed back his chair and stood up with a wink, then spoke more loudly. "Think I'll go take some more money from Big Jim in a game of poker."

He gave Forrest a meaningful look and headed toward the back of the station. Forrest glanced at the items he'd bought, surprised that Mia hadn't seemed to notice them yet, and then glanced back at her. She was washing dishes now, and he could hear her humming to herself.

He cleared his throat and picked up the bouquet and the sachet and walked over to the bar. He rapped on it lightly with his knuckles and she turned around. He studied the bruise on her face; it didn't seem to be as swollen as it was last night but it was an angry color. He looked at it and got mad all over again and wanted to go knock _all _of Pete's teeth out of his face.

"Need something?" she asked, drying off her hands and coming to stand across from him.

His hand tightened around the stems of the bouquet he held down by his leg. "I thought you was gonna take the day and rest. Rather, I told Jack to tell you that."

She shrugged a shoulder. "What for? A little knock to the face isn't enough to bed me."

_Bed her. _He knew that she didn't mean it the way he was thinking of it now, but he remembered again being close to her on her bed last night, and the night he'd seen her in her nightie with no drawers on underneath.

"Well, just know, I wanted you to take some time to yourself," he said gruffly. "Ain't every day a lady finds herself on the receiving end of a punch from a man."

She smiled. "I appreciate the concern."

They just looked at each other for a beat. "How'd you make them biscuits so good?" he blurted without meaning to. "I mean – they're so improved from your last attempt."

Mia smiled. "You're a subtle man, you know that?" She didn't look mad. "Actually I got a baking lesson from Mrs. McByrne. I'm sure she wasn't wild about the notion of spending any more time with me than necessary, but, she graciously stuck around to help me and correct my errors. I was going about it all wrong. Anyway, now I know better and everyone will be able to have delicious biscuits every day. How about that?" She smiled again and despite the bruising to her face, her big brown eyes warmed up and he saw her dimple. It was a real smile, and it was aimed at him.

"Hmm. Well, that's good. And I told Jack she was comin', left the money with him. I s'pose he forgot to tell you 'fore he took off." He realized he was rambling and cleared his throat again, and then lifted the bouquet of flowers. Her eyes widened. "Picked these up at the general store when I went to get a new lock for the shed. Thought they might look nice down here, if you wanted to arrange 'em." He watched as she brought the bouquet to her face, inhaling and closing her eyes. "Or if you wanted to keep 'em, in your room for instance, I reckon that would be all right, too."

She blinked at him. "Thank you," she said quietly. "They smell wonderful."

"Wildwood flowers," he said.

She took another sniff. "Well, maybe I'll leave them out here for a day, then take them to my room. It would be wonderful to have this fragrance among my things."

That reminded him of the other thing he had, and he immediately regretted buying it. Flowers were one thing; but a _sachet? _What kind of fool was he, to buy something so frivolous for this woman? To buy her anything at all? He should just throw it away before she saw it and pretend it never happened.

But then he looked at her face, her pretty, bruised face, and recalled that she had managed to keep him and his brothers from getting robbed blind, and had taken a hard punch to the face from a man twice her size for her pains, not to mention nearly getting raped, and he remembered why he'd thought to bring her a gift in the first place.

He placed the little bundle on the countertop. "And this," he said quietly. "That's for you. I saw it and thought – I don't know. Seemed like somethin' pretty a lady would like to have. It smells nice."

She looked completely surprised as she glanced down at the sachet. She picked up the small bundle. "It's so pretty," she said softly. She sniffed it. "You're right. It does smell very nice."

"Thought you might like to have that to put with your – your clothing and things," he said, his ears getting hot.

"I'll do that," she said. She looked at him almost shyly. "Thank you, Forrest."

"Umm. You're welcome." Abruptly he stepped away from the bar. "Need to put that lock on the shed just now. When you're finished with those dishes you can call it a night."

He turned and walked out of the station, his stomach doing a strange fluttery dance.

* * *

Mia finished drying off the last of the dishes, casting glances at the wildflowers she'd cut and put into a jar filled with water. She'd set the bouquet out on the bar, and as she looked at the way it looked in the room, she knew that Forrest had bought that bouquet for her, and for her alone. The story about brightening up the station was hooey. The dining room was masculine, operated by men and run for men, and the flowers stuck out like a sore thumb. She wouldn't even leave them out for a day – she'd take them up to her room tonight and enjoy them all to herself, the way they were meant to be.

And not only had he gotten her a gift at all, he'd bought her _two _of them. Two lovely, very thoughtful gifts. Flowers to brighten her day and a sachet for her to use. Her face flushed when she thought of him thinking of the way her clothes smelled. Strangely, she didn't take it as a dig that he might potentially think she smelled; rather, she took it as a very intimate gift, that he smelled something sweet, and wanted her to smell that way too. So _he_ could enjoy it.

A plate almost slipped from her hands, and she shook herself and gripped it, wiping it dry. She didn't know why two simple things such as these gifts had her in such disarray – she'd received gifts from men lots of other times, and gifts far more extravagant than these. She'd received giant bouquets, dozens of roses arranged in crystal vases with the finest accent flowers, bouquets that cost twenty dollars or more each. Bouquets that were far more luxurious and expensive-looking than some wildwood flowers someone had picked and bundled together. And yet…these flowers were far more special. And he'd looked at them and thought of her. He'd given them to her to make her feel better, feel special, not to impress her.

It was the same with the sachet. She'd received diamond bracelets, brooches with precious gems, bottles of the most expensive perfume, fur stoles. But none of those gifts touched her the way a simple cloth sachet did. He'd looked at the pretty little object, and he'd thought of her.

He looked at pretty things, and it made him think of her.

Her belly exploded with butterflies. She didn't know what that meant, what any of it meant. Maybe he was trying to perk her up after the night she'd had. Maybe he was just being nice. But maybe he cared a little more than he said he did.

She looked out the window. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange-red glow over the land. He must still be working on the shed, she thought, finishing up drying the last dish. She wondered if he was thirsty, then grabbed a glass and filled it with cold water and headed outside.

She went around the corner of the station, trying not to think of the memories of last night that came rushing back to her now. Forrest had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and was hammering a metal panel into the door.

"Forrest," she called softly, and he turned. She held out the glass. "I thought you might be thirsty."

He looked at the glass and then at her, then got to his feet slowly. "Umm – thank you." He took the glass, his fingers brushing hers as he did, and took a drink, his eyes never leaving her.

She found herself at a loss for words, trying to think of something to say. "Have you much longer to fix the lock?" she finally asked, lamely.

"No, not much," he replied. "Once I get the panel hammered it's basically set." He turned away to go back to work. Mia waited to see if he would say anything else, and then when it looked like he wouldn't, she turned awkwardly to leave.

"Wait," she heard him say, and she stopped and turned, watching as he got up and faced her again. He took a few steps toward her, his big frame filling up her eyes. "I should – I should thank you, for what you did last night," he said gruffly. "You coulda kept on runnin', to go back home like you wanted, but you didn't. You put yourself at risk to keep us from gettin' robbed. That took a lot of…bravery."

"More like stupidity," Mia said wryly. "But thank you." She sighed. "My mouth gets me into more trouble."

She watched as his gaze instantly dropped to her lips and her heart started to race. His eyelids were a little heavy as he stared, his chest moving a little more noticeably with his breathing. Was he thinking of that night in Chicago? she wondered. The night she had teased his lips with her own, just a little. The night when she had felt his hands tight on her waist, pulling her closer. He'd had the same look on his face that night as he did now – one of almost frustrated desire, a need to take, to consume.

"Forrest, mind bringin' a crate when you're all done there? Got some thirsty peckerwoods inside."

The shout startled her so much she jumped, making a little squeaking noise. Forrest barely seemed to register it, moving his gaze lazily from her to where Howard was standing a dozen feet away. Mia followed his gaze, flushing. She and Forrest were standing at least five feet apart, and to the outward eye it would appear as nothing more than casual conversation. But Howard always seemed to know more than he let on, and even from here she could see the sly look that came into his eyes as he looked between the two of them.

"I'm going inside," Mia said hastily. "Goodnight."

She turned and hurried away. "Goodnight, Howard," she said as she passed, doing her best to ignore the understanding look and smile he gave her.

"Goodnight, darlin'. Hope I wasn't interruptin' anything?"

"No, no," she said as she hurried on, flustered. "It's all right. Goodnight."

When she was up in her room, she decided he _had _interrupted something. But what it was, or what it might have been, she had no idea. And certainly not what it meant.

She was still trembling a little when she climbed into bed to fall into an early, restless sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Here's hoping your Monday can come to a good close :-) In this chapter I have incorporated some actual canon from the movie, including some word-for-word dialogue. I have added some things, because I feel the movie dialogue was a bit stilted and to see it written down as it was in the movie is too abrupt. So the characters have some longer schpiels, and I've changed the setting a bit in other instances. There's also a little somethin' at the end of the chapter. Just a little somethin'-somethin'.**

**Thanks to my love Nik for some great suggestions and also a great one-liner! Lub you, tank you very much.**

**Please read, enjoy, and leave me a review! Thanks lovelies. MWAH.**

**Chapter 12**

One morning about a week later, Forrest woke up with a feeling in the pit of his gut that told him something was off. He didn't know what, or why, but despite the promise of a lovely day, he couldn't shake the feeling that he would need to stay on his guard.

He washed his face and combed his hair, and brushed his teeth with the special toothpaste he got from Mrs. Burkett, who special ordered it in for him from the big city. It was definitely an expensive indulgence, but Forrest was picky about keeping his teeth clean. He had slightly crooked teeth that had always pestered him growing up, and as a result of not being able to change that he was almost obsessive about cleaning them. He dressed in clean pants, a button-up shirt, a vest and his boots and went downstairs.

He lit a lamp and went to the window, peering outside. The sky was a dark blue velvety color, the edges of the horizon just starting to show the faintest hint of light from the sun. He walked out onto the porch. The air was cool but slightly humid – it would be warm today.

He lit up a cigar and sat quietly in his rocking chair, smoking as the sun started to come up. He turned when he heard the sounds of movement from inside; Mia must be up and awake now. He always rose before the sun, and he didn't require her to get up until six, so it must be half-past if she was getting things ready for the day.

After a little while, she walked out onto the porch, holding a mug of coffee. Her coffee was by far the best he'd ever tasted and he found himself looking forward to it each day. He nodded his thanks wordlessly when she held it out to him.

"I thought you were out here," she said, wrapping her arms around herself against the sudden burst of a cool breeze. "You're quiet as a mouse but I could smell that cigar going."

Forrest glanced down at the butt between his fingers and reached down to grind it out against the porch. He flicked the butt away and took a sip of coffee.

"Can you sew?" he asked after a beat.

Mia shrugged a shoulder. "I can do some mending, I guess. What do you need sewed?"

"Few buttons on some shirts. Got a rip in a seam. Had a hem fall out of a pair of trousers," he replied, then felt a little strange about the idea of Mia handling his clothes. "They're all clean, just a little worn. If you have some time after you fix breakfast I'd sure appreciate it. Otherwise I can take it to the tailor. Just wondered if you knew how, be easier that way."

"I can handle buttons and ripped seams and hems," she said. "It's no problem."

"Thank you," he replied. She nodded and went back inside.

When he caught sight of the first group of customers heading up the gravel road toward the station, he got up from his rocking chair and went inside.

Mia was frying eggs at the stove, and was baking some fresh biscuits in the oven. Forrest admitted he was looking forward to his breakfast – her cooking had come a long way. Apparently Mrs. McByrne had left a stack of recipes for Mia at the general store and she was taking to them like she'd been born to this type of cooking.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her face was healing nicely, only a faint greenish tinge lingering on her cheek now. Her long, thick dark was neatly pulled back into her usual knot at the nape of her neck and she was dressed in a cream colored blouse and a gray tweed skirt. And he'd noticed for the past several days that her clothes had begun to smell of lemon and lavender, with a hint of jasmine.

"Plate ready for you, Forrest," she said, and turned to place a plate of sunny side up eggs, two strips of bacon – something else she'd perfected – a biscuit and some fried potatoes on the bar. She reached for the coffee pot and refreshed his coffee, and he nodded his thanks as he took his plate and mug to a table and sat down, just as customers began to enter the station. Howard and Jack eventually joined him and Forrest asked about their plans for the day.

"Got that new refrigerator comin'," he said. He looked at Howard. "Need someone here to help unload it."

"I need to work on that ol' tin can of yours today," Jack announced, cutting his eggs and sopping up the creamy yolks with his biscuit. "Y'know, Forrest, while you're spendin' a couple hundred dollars on a new 'frigerator you might consider buyin' a new truck. That thing's ready to collapse like an old racehorse at the Kentucky Derby."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with that truck that can't be fixed," Forrest replied stubbornly. "If you wasn't such a damn old lady sometimes, ridin' them brakes the way you do –"

"There's a far sight more wrong with that truck than just touchy brakes, brother," Jack interrupted.

"Oh, now," Howard said equably. "Don't go beatin' on that old truck of his, Jack. You know how it hurts his feelings."

"Just make sure you fix what needs fixed," Forrest said darkly. He glanced at his older brother. "And you just make sure you're here around noon. No goin' off and drinkin' your lunch like you're known to do."

Howard smiled charmingly. "Who, me?"

Later on that morning, Forrest brought his stack of clothing that needed mending to Mia, as well as a small sewing kit. "Everything you need should be in there," he said. "Thread, scissors, needles."

"All right," she said, untying her apron. "If it's all the same to you, I think I might sit out on the porch while I sew. It's such a lovely day."

"Whatever you like," he said, stepping out of the way as she gathered up the pile and moved to the door. He followed her outside and waited as she got settled, opening the kit and checking over her supplies. She glanced up at him and nodded.

"Looks like I have everything I need," she said.

He nodded back and walked down the porch to the shed. They'd started jarring more of Mr. Capone's order over the past week, and he needed to go in and take an exact inventory of where they were now. He estimated that they had about three hundred and seventy-five cases filled, which came out to be roughly seven and a half thousand jars. They were almost to Mr. Capone's five hundred-case order, and Forrest thought they should be able to complete it in a couple of days. Forrest had been pulling very long days overseeing the jarring process and had enlisted the help of Jimmy Turner, Lefty Brown and a couple of other fellows he trusted in exchange for a nominal portion of his commission.

He pulled the key to the shed from around his neck where it hung on a string – he had taken Mary Lou's very sound advice – and unlocked it, eyeing the cases. This would promise to be a long day, in and of itself – he couldn't assume that there were exactly twenty jars per case. He had to count them individually. He sighed, staring at the mountain of crates and jars for a moment, then got to work.

He was making headway some time later and contemplating another mug of coffee when the sound of a motor car out front drew his attention. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time – it was only a quarter of eleven. The lunch rush normally didn't start arriving until closer to noon, and they usually arrived on foot.

He puffed on his cigar, and then set his coffee mug down on the case he'd been counting to mark where he'd left off and closed up the shed, locking it, and then headed toward the front of the station. A fancy black town car was sitting out front, the engine purring, and he could see that there was someone inside it. Someone he didn't know.

Outside the truck, he saw Sheriff Peter Hodges, and Deputy Henry Abshire, along with another strange man dressed to the nines in a fancy black and white pinstriped suit with a bowtie. At first there was nothing about the man, save for his fancy clothes, that caught Forrest's eye, but then he noticed the pair of black leather gloves on his hands and a cold shudder went through his stomach.

The next thing he noticed about this man was his jet black hair, parted severely down the middle, and that he was staring right at Mia, with a predatory smile on his face.

It was the bastard from the Cotton Club last fall, the one Forrest had caught in the hallway with Mia, the one who'd had his hands around her neck, the one who he'd pulled a gun on.

And very likely, the one who had ordered the hit on the club.

Forrest glanced over at Mia who was sitting stock still, her threaded needle poised in the air as she stared back at Rakes. She was in profile, so Forrest couldn't make out her expression, but knowing her as he did, it was probably one of stubborn bullheadedness, one that refused to show how scared she really was. And he knew that she had to be.

"Mornin', Forrest," Sheriff Hodges called as he noticed Forrest approaching.

Forrest merely grunted in reply, his eyes never leaving the familiar stranger. "What the hell you doin' here?" he asked.

The stranger only smiled at him, his eyes flickering briefly toward Forrest before moving back to Mia. "My, you've got yourself a little peach there, haven't you? Just ripe and juicy, with soft sweet flesh, begging to be plucked. And I almost got the chance some months ago…didn't I?"

A surge of fury went through him. "You don't fuckin' even look at her," he said, his voice quiet and deadly. "Or maybe you've forgotten about our last encounter."

"Where you threatened to blow my head off?" the stranger asked with a high-pitched titter. "No, I assure you, I haven't. I like to think of it often. It brings me great amusement."

Forrest looked directly at Sheriff Hodges. "Pete, who the hell is this son of a bitch?"

"Now, Forrest," Sheriff Hodges said nervously, "that there is the new Special Deputy, from the city. He's here to help us out, make sure things go smooth."

Forrest stared back at the sheriff unflinchingly. It all came together for him in a heartbeat. _These disloyal greedy bastards. _He huffed out a sarcastic chuckle. "And what _things_ might they be?"

"Sorry, something funny, country boy?" the Special Deputy said sharply. "My name is Charlie Rakes, and I'm from Chicago. Things can go real easy, or they can be real difficult. Depends on how you'd like to play the game."

Forrest looked at him evenly, then turned back toward Sheriff Hodges. "Pete, who the hell is in the car?" he asked, completely ignoring Rakes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man's gaze slide back to Mia.

"That there is Mr. Mason Wardell, the Commonwealth's Attorney," Sheriff Hodges replied. "He wants to work it out so everybody can get to do some business." There was a tap on the glass from the man in the car, and Sheriff Hodges flicked his head at Deputy Abshire. "Henry, go see what Mr. Wardell wants."

"Pete, what the hell is all this?" Forrest asked, allowing a note of anger to slip into his voice. "Man in the car, this city-slicker here. What the hell's this about?"

"I'm hurt you aren't happy to see me again," Rakes replied with a shark-like smile. "And as I said, I'm here to make sure you toe the line and play nice, country boy." He jabbed Forrest in the chest with a hard finger, and Forrest was momentarily taken aback at the man's audacity. "And as I said, I'll make your life real difficult if you don't play by the rules. Real difficult."

Forrest looked at him steadily. "Don't you ever touch me again," he warned quietly, and Rakes just smiled.

"All right, all right," Sheriff Hodges said hastily. "Now, listen, Forrest, it's all been settled. The whole county is gonna get on board real soon. We're talkin' twenty dollars a week, maybe thirty dollars a load – everyone gets to operate free and clear. Free passage through the whole county, hell, the whole state. No one'll bother you."

"Don't nobody bother me now," Forrest replied softly. He heard another titter from Rakes that made him want to slit the man's throat.

"Forrest," Deputy Abshire called. "Mr. Wardell would like a jar of your finest apple brandy." He walked toward him and held out some folded bills. "That be all right?"

Forrest looked at the bills in his hand and then across the road at the fat bastard sitting in the fancy car. He slowly made his way to the car and rapped on it with his knuckles. The man looked at him through the window, surprise vaguely on his face, then he rolled the window down.

"Can I help you, son?" the man asked, his tone full of all the arrogance and entitlement that would typically accompany an office such as the one he occupied.

"Yeah." Forrest looked at him, leaning slightly through the window. "You send your clown with the bowtie around here again, and I'll personally guarantee you pull a cleaver out of his fuckin' skull." He shoved the man's money back into the breast pocket of his suit jacket savagely. "You understand me?"

He turned without waiting for answer, looking at Mia on the porch. She was watching the scene with wide eyes.

"You're going to regret this, Forrest!" Wardell shouted through his window.

"He's already regretting it," Rakes said tauntingly. "Aren't you, country boy? You're just too ignorant to know it yet."

Forrest ignored them, watching Mia's wide brown eyes sweep from left to right before focusing on him. He looked at her seriously, pointing to the station.

"Why don't you head on inside now," he said gently, and it was not a request. If things started to go wrong – _more _wrong – he didn't want her anywhere near the danger. Mia blinked at him, glancing at the other men again, her brow creasing with concern, but she quickly gathered up his clothes and the sewing kit and hurried to the door, looking at him again over her shoulder. He nodded at her, his hand creeping to his side, and watched as she disappeared inside, the door closing behind her.

A gloved hand closed around his forearm. "Whoa, now," Charlie Rakes said, his dark eyes flashing. "What was that? You thinking of drawing on me?"

"Forrest," Sheriff Hodges said warningly.

Forrest looked Rakes in the eye. "I gotta tell you never to touch me again, it's gon' be the last thing you hear on this earth. I guarantee you that."

Charlie Rakes chuckled, his lips pressed together, and he slowly released Forrest's arm, backing up. "Just wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any unnecessary blood shed this morning, that's all."

Forrest stared at him a beat longer, then looked at Sheriff Hodges. "You got ten seconds to get off my land."

Sheriff Hodges stared back for a second, then he walked to the car. "Let's go, boys. We've pestered Mr. Bondurant enough for one morning."

Charlie Rakes gave him a slow, condescending smile. "You've made your bed, country boy. Be prepared to lie in it."

Forrest spat on his shoe. "Get the fuck out of my sight."

Rakes glared down at his shoe, and he jerked a handkerchief from his pocket, reaching down to wipe off Forrest's spittle quickly. "You'll pay for that," Rakes said. "You, your brothers. Your pretty little barkeep. Mark my words."

"Go anywhere near any of them and you're a dead man," Forrest said calmly, and opened his sweater to reveal the pistol tucked into his belt at his side. "If you ain't gone in five seconds I'll make that a reality today."

Rakes smirked and walked toward the car, and when he climbed in next to Mason Wardell, it sped off down the road. Forrest stood where he was and watched it drive off, fury making his skin hot. He wished he would have shot the man on sight.

And Pete and Henry were in bed with these bastards. He shook his head. He'd have to have a private word with them later to give full vent to his deep disapproval.

"Forrest?"

The timid sound of Mia's normally loud, sassy voice broke through his reverie, and he looked over toward the station. The front door was cracked and she stuck her head out. He waved her out and she walked down the porch toward him, her arms wrapped around her body. She came to the banister, leaning her elbows on it, her hands folded gracefully in front of her, and looked down at him as he came to stand below her.

"You all right?" he asked her quietly. "I recognized him. I know who that was."

Mia bit her lip and shook her head. "He – the way he looked at me…" She shivered, and her warm olive skin seemed to pale a little. "It makes me feel like someone's walking over my grave."

"Hey, now." Forrest reached up and took one of her hands in his own. "He ain't nothin' for you to worry about. He's just some fast-talkin' city-slicker who's too damn pushy for his own good. He ain't gonna do nothin' to you. I won't let him."

Mia looked at his hand closed around hers, and he wondered what the hell had come over him to make him act so forward. He was about to pull it away when he felt her thumb move beneath his hand, to stroke the side of it lightly with one little up-and-down swipe. He looked up at her face, and she caught his eye, then smiled a little, seeming to lean in closer to him until their faces were only a foot away.

"I feel a little better now," she said softly.

He cleared his throat. "Umm. You should. Like I said. Ain't nothin' for you to worry on."

It should have been his cue to head back to the shed and get back to work, but for some reason he couldn't move away, didn't want to pull his hand from hers. Suddenly her other hand came to rest on top of his, and he looked at her face again, finding her gaze steady and soft.

"It's funny, isn't it?" she asked finally.

"What's funny?"

"You've got law enforcement – men that are supposed to do just that, enforce laws – looking for bribes and handouts to let illegal activity keep happening," she replied. "I suppose that man in the car was sent by the government – perhaps the ATU."

"How do you know about the ATU?" Forrest asked slowly, incredulous at the fact that Mia knew of the Alcohol Tax Unit.

She shrugged. "I wasn't just some singer and dancer, Forrest. I was privy to business discussions and plots. I know all about the ATU." She nodded her head down the road, in the direction the car had gone. "I'm guessing it was the ATU since the man in the car seemed to want a piece of the action and he looked pretty official. They don't care that you're bootlegging liquor, you see, only that you're not taxing it." She gave him a little sardonic smile.

"That's about right," Forrest replied, looking up at her with new respect. She was a smart, sly one, this pretty little woman.

"It's the same old story. They come around, beating their chests and shouting orders, when really all they want is enough cash to keep quiet and look the other way and let you bootleggers keep operating. Meanwhile they go back to their bosses and tell them there is no problem, that they've stamped out bootlegging in the area they were assigned to. All the while, their pockets are getting fat and the liquor keeps flowing undisturbed." She shook her head. "The government is no better than the mob. Al would be proud." She glanced at him. "I hope you're not going to let them intimidate you out of your money. Al would never have stood for that."

"I don't play by nobody's rules but my own," he replied, slightly miffed at the notion that she would even question that. "And I ain't intimidated by no county lawmen, no Commonwealth's Attorney and damn sure not some Special Deputy."

One corner of her mouth lifted. "Good."

Forrest almost smiled back. "You – you ain't like any other lady 'round here."

"No, I suppose I'm not." She looked at their hands, then trailed her gaze up his arm to his face. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," he said quietly. "It ain't a bad thing a'tall."

They shared another quiet gaze, still joined by their hands, and then Mia spoke again. "I wish you would have killed him. Back in Chicago. That night." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "He gives me the creeps. I've an awful feeling about him. I wish you would have killed him."

Forrest sighed and finally dropped his hand from hers, glancing back down the road, even though the car was long gone by now, its dust long settled.

"Me, too."

* * *

The supper rush was over, but it seemed to Mia that the station was getting even more crowded instead of the opposite. She had had a busy day and had been looking forward to taking a load off at night, but since there were so many men here, it was probably a given that she was not to go anywhere until the station cleared out.

She alternated between washing dishes and pouring drinks. By now most of the men had warmed up to her and never failed to refer to her as "Miss Mia", paying her some outrageous compliment to make her smile and giggle and make pleasant small talk with her.

There wasn't much of that going on tonight, however. She couldn't tell what it was, but there seemed to be some tension in the air, some seriousness that had the men being brusquely polite with her and chatting quietly amongst themselves. Jack wandered over by the bar, and she reached out to snag his sleeve.

"What gives?" she asked him quietly, glancing around the sea of faces. "Why is every man in town here, and why does everyone look so mad?"

"Well, Miss Mia, nobody's too happy to hear about them two fellers that stopped by the station today," Jack said. "Sounds like they been payin' visits all over Franklin County tryin' to get people on board with their 'plan'. I guess everyone wanted to meet tonight to come to an agreement with how the situation should be handled."

"What would happen if everyone just decided _not_ to give into them?" Mia pressed.

Jack smiled at her sadly. "Well, then those men would raid our town, burn our stills and most men between the ages of twenty and forty would be hauled off to prison for a good long time and stuck with a fine that would impoverish them and their families when they were previously doin' pretty well, Depression or no." He shrugged. "I don't see how we can't go along with it."

Forrest walked through the front door with Howard right behind him. He glanced around the room and made his way to a table in the middle of the room where Jimmy Turner was sitting. Forrest remained standing, puffing on a cigar, and looked down at the man.

"Say your piece, Jimmy," he said, his deep voice resonating and carrying through the room. "I got a business to run."

Jimmy looked up at him, seeming almost taken aback by Forrest's abruptness. He slowly got to his feet. "All right, Forrest. Now, listen. Most of us in this room are bootleggers. We know what the life is like. We know what the situation is. We know we got a chance to make a good stack of money here while the gettin' is good – them boys down in Florida are gettin' a little too slick with their manufacturing and shippin' costs, and us boys in Virginia are able to keep 'em pretty for the big city-slickers, and that's why they come down here to talk to us and make the rounds like they done. They's just askin' for a little piece to make sure we can all keep on runnin' our businesses. But, it's like a train, Forrest, see. In order for things to run smooth…you gotta grease the tracks."

Forrest sighed heavily through his nose, looking at the man. He took another deep puff on his cigar and shrugged. "Yeah, I hear what you're sayin', Jimmy, and me and you, we go back a long way. So I ain't gonna make a big deal outta this – outta you askin' me to bend over for this Commonwealth's Attorney and this Special Deputy. But, look here. I'm a Bondurant. And we Bondurants, we don't lay down for nobody. We ain't greasin' no tracks. We'll continue to operate free and clear here, as always. Me, I'll never pay no money to no Mason Wardell or the next goddamn bloodsucker come after him. I never have and I damn sure ain't gonna start today."

Jimmy's jaw clenched and he frowned at Forrest. There was a long moment of silence, and then Jimmy finally said, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Forrest."

Forrest stared back at him steadily. "Jimmy, do you have somethin' that you really wanna say to me?" he asked quietly.

Jimmy was silent again, then finally gave in to his frustration, pawing his hat off his head and throwing it onto the table. "Dammit, Forrest, you stubborn sumbitch. When you gon' wake up and realize you can't do it the old way no more? We're talkin' the government, the ATU, the Untouchables maybe. There's a new set of rules in place and if you don't fuckin' follow 'em, you get fucked. Period."

Forrest blinked at him slowly. "I remember there was a time when you had some balls, Jimmy." His old friend spluttered wordlessly and Forrest held up a hand to silence him. "Well, I guess we'll see what happens," he said calmly. He glanced around the room and touched the brim of his hat. "You're all welcome to stay and have a drink and a game of poker if you like. Gentlemen."

Forrest made his way through the crowd toward the bar, and some of them took seats at tables but a good number of them started to file out, shaking their heads. Judging from the way they were shooting looks at Forrest and muttering amongst themselves, Mia assumed they weren't too happy about his position.

But listening to Jimmy, Mia could hardly believe her ears. When Forrest and Howard joined them at the bar, Mia shook her head rapidly. "You mean to tell me these so-called 'businessmen' are going to let that fat bastard and that nance city boy shake them down?" she exclaimed.

Howard smiled fondly at her. "Anyone ever tell you, you got a way with words? Yeah, Miss Mia, it sounds thataway."

"Ain't gon' be us, though," Jack said, sticking out his chin. "Me and my brothers, we ain't sceered of shit."

"I could name one or two things you sceered of, baby brother," Howard said dryly. "One bein' them chickens up in our barn. Two bein' Bertha Minnix's daddy."

"Fuck you, Howard," Jack said darkly.

"Well, I don't know if you have close friendships with these joes or not," Mia said, surveying the room, "but you should be wary of snakes in the grass. I've seen it happen before. Someone doesn't play along with everyone else, and they get turned on. I'd hate for your friends to end up turning against you." She shook her head. "Where I'm from, that sort of betrayal starts wars. Bloody ones."

Jack's eyes were huge at her words, and Mia knew he was picturing himself holding onto a tommy gun and regretted her choice of words; she hadn't meant to glamorize the ugliness of mob wars. Hell, apparently Floyd Banner had shot up some poor fool in town the other day, in broad daylight, and Jack had actually saved a couple of the shell casings. Now, he and Cricket wore them on chains around their necks, so proud of them. Mia wondered what the hell someone like Floyd Banner was even doing in Franklin.

Mia saw Howard and Forrest exchange a look, before Howard turned a jovial smile on her. "Well, we will certainly do our best to stay vigilant, Miss Mia. But you don't need to worry one hair on your pretty little head about it. Now, how about a drink for ol' Howard?"

Later on, when the station had mostly emptied itself and the dishes were done and the breakfast things readied for the next day – thanks to the lovely new refrigerator that had been delivered and installed this afternoon; it had come as a complete surprise to her, and she was glad that Forrest had taken her suggestion. It couldn't have been a coincidence that the package had come addressed for one "Miss Mia Scalise", either – Mia rubbed her shoulders tiredly and went to look for Forrest. Howard and Jack were still into their card game with a couple of customers, but Forrest wasn't playing with them, so she checked the front porch.

He was in his rocking chair, puffing away on a cigar, looking out into the cool still night. She hated to disturb him, but she cleared her throat quietly. He whipped his head around, his eyes fixing on her.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she said. "The dishes are done and breakfast is prepped. There are still some customers, though, so I just wanted to check with you…"

"It's fine," he said, rising from his chair and tossing his cigar butt away. "Doubt they'll want anything more, but if they do, Jack can fetch it. You've had you a long day. G'on to bed, if you like."

"Thank you." Mia turned to go, then stopped. She looked at him over her shoulder. "You and your brothers going to be all right?"

He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

She sighed and folded her arms. "I've just been thinking. Since this morning when that Wardell fellow and the creep from Chicago showed up here. Suppose they would throw you in prison? Or fine you all your money? What would you do?"

Forrest smiled a little, a small, amused smile. "I wouldn't worry about that a'tall, Mia. Don't forget – those men are dirty and crooked themselves. They may not have gotten a red cent from me, but there's many men who were here tonight who paid them cold hard cash. If they tried to take us down…we'd strike first."

She nodded slowly. "I'm sure the three of you have it all figured out. I just – I was concerned, that's all."

They were talking quietly, and were standing close together, and Mia inhaled his scent. She couldn't get enough of it, the bitter tang of tobacco combined with the smooth, lovely aroma of vanilla and the slightly sweet, peppery spiciness of the cinnamon. She could still feel his hand around hers from where it had been earlier today, when he'd tried to comfort her. Because the truth was, seeing the man she'd come to find out was Charles Rakes had disconcerted her greatly. So much so, she'd pricked her finger on the needle she'd been mending Forrest's clothing with as she watched Rakes' eyes take her in and stare at her with that undressing, malevolent look that she remembered from the back hallway of the Cotton Club in Chicago. Unconsciously, her finger began to ache and throb and made its way between her lips and she sucked slightly, as if it were still bleeding.

Forrest watched her and frowned. "You all right? Somethin' wrong with your finger?"

"Oh," Mia said with a shake of her head and a little laugh. "It's fine. I pricked it earlier when those men arrived and it started to ache just now. Just a reflex, I guess –"

While she had been talking Forrest reached for her hand, pulling it toward him. He unfurled her finger and examined the tip, where the angry, sore little red dot still remained. His thumb stroked over it lightly, then he closed his hand around hers gently.

Mia's breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him and her heart started to pound. Over the past couple of weeks, despite their very rough start, her feelings for him were starting to drive her mad. And ever since the night she'd been attacked, he'd been so –nice to her, in his own way. He was quiet and gruff and sometimes she wondered if he was aware of her presence and existence, but when he was focused on her, he would look at her with some depth of emotion in his eyes. He'd look at her like he desperately needed to tell her something, or show her something.

He'd look at her just the way he was looking at her now.

She swallowed hard as she looked at him, watching him watch her, watching him hold her hand. He was so handsome, she thought, so very handsome, for all his old, worn clothing, and his short stubbly beard. His eyes were clear, his hair was always neatly combed, and his mouth drew her eye like a bee to honey. Like it was doing right now.

She couldn't stand it one more second and quickly stepped against him, wrapping her free hand around the back of his neck and bringing her face to his. Without a word, she kissed him, hard, and the familiar taste and feel of his mouth was so sweet and wonderful she could have wept. She kissed him with a desperation she never realized she was capable of feeling, desperate for closeness that had been denied for so many long months, so much back and forth.

He stood as rigidly as stone against her, letting her kiss him but returning none of her kisses. She fisted a handful of his sweater, not pulling away but opening her eyes to stare up into his, knowing hers were naked with pleading, with need.

"Kiss me," she begged softly against his lips. "Kiss me, please, kiss me."

She squeezed her eyes shut again, returning her mouth to his, and then gasped when she felt him cradle her jaws in both hands, when she felt him tilt his head, when she felt his lips press back against hers deliberately for the first time. She pulled him as close as she could as he leaned into her, his mouth opening slowly against hers, and she tasted the way he smelled and it was better than she could have imagined. She slipped the tip of her tongue into his mouth, brushing it against his and he froze again. A moment later she felt his hand creep underneath the knot of her hair, tug the pins free until they tinkled to the wooden floor of the porch and her locks cascaded down her back and over his hand. His fist tightened and his other hand dropped to her waist, squeezing down to the point of roughness as he tugged her closer, and then his mouth was on hers again, his breath fast on her cheek, and his tongue was sliding against hers like they were in a slow dance.

"Oh, Christ, I'm sorry."

Forrest let her go in a flash and turned with an almost animal-like growl, and Mia pressed herself against the wall of the station, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth as she struggled to control her breathing.

Lefty Brown was half-walking, half-stumbling toward the stairs with a little smile on his face. "Sure didn't mean to in'nerupt. Came outside to take me a piss, forgot I went through the back door to get out, and now here am I." He staggered drunkenly.

"Think you've had about enough for one night," Forrest said gruffly. He glanced over his shoulder at Mia. "Why don't you head on up to bed now," he told her in a sharp, no-nonsense tone. It suddenly sounded cold to her ears, and she felt confused.

She knelt to pick up the pins he'd pulled from her hair. "What are you doing?" he barked at her, and she froze.

"I'm gathering my hair pins," she said, feeling hurt and anger rise in her chest. Who was he to kiss her like that and then speak to her this way?

"Just go inside. I'll take care of the pins myself. Go on, now." He abruptly turned back to Lefty Brown, descending the steps toward him. "No, no more corn for you. _Go home._"

Mia stared after him open-mouthed, humiliation burning her cheeks. Her lips were still tingling, her mouth still full of the flavor of him, her heart still pounding and her adrenaline still racing.

And he'd turned it off, closed himself back up. Shoved her back to arm's length again, just like that.

_You are a silly fool, _she thought angrily, wrenching open the door and hurrying upstairs without a word to anyone. _You are a silly, stupid, stupid little fool. _


End file.
